


all's well that ends well to end up with you

by fakecharliebrown



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Allergies, Attempt at Humor, Awkward Dates, Bets & Wagers, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, First Dates, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, Hinata Shouyou is Sunshine, Holding Hands, M/M, Miya Atsumu Being an Idiot, Nonbinary Kita Shinsuke, Plans For The Future, Weddings, almost forgot that!, disaster gay miya atsumu, literally so much of it, plot significant bananas, thats a real tag omg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28372386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fakecharliebrown/pseuds/fakecharliebrown
Summary: Atsumu turns to Hinata, fully intending to apologize or bullshit his way through an excuse, but all that comes out is, “Get the fuck off of my team.”Hinata blinks, eyes wide.Atsumu stares down at him for several minutes as his own words register in his mind, before he grabs his bag and books it out of the locker room as fast as he possibly can, all the while ignoring Hinata calling out after him.He wonders how much real estate in the Himalayas costs.or; Hinata joins the MSBY Black Jackals, and Atsumu needs a date to Osamu's wedding.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu, Kita Shinsuke/Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu & Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 34
Kudos: 294





	all's well that ends well to end up with you

**Author's Note:**

> title from lover by taylor swift!

When he hears the news, at first Atsumu can’t figure out why the name is so familiar. It’s in passing that he hears it, in between serve and receive practice that Meian mentions a new team member, some kid named  _ Hinata Shouyou.  _

Atsumu wonders, briefly, where he’s heard that name before. He definitely has, actually remembers hearing it and thinking  _ huh, that’s fitting  _ in regards to whatever personality matches the name. It isn’t a bad name, is actually kind of pleasing to the ear. Much more pleasing than something dumb like Osamu. 

Cough. 

“Hey, Bokkun,” Atsumu asks, taking a sip from his water bottle. Bokuto glances up at him from where he’d been toweling sweat off of his forearms and texting someone simultaneously. 

“What is it, Tsum-Tsum?” he asks, dropping his phone and towel back onto the bench to give Atsumu his full, undivided attention. Bokuto does that whenever anybody talks to him; it’s almost like he’d trained himself in previous years to never be distracted during a conversation. It’s endearing, if a little strange. 

“Does the name  _ Hinata Shouyou  _ mean anythin’ to ya?” Atsumu asks, frowning. He’s definitely heard it before—but where? Was it high school? Maybe sometime in college, before Atsumu had been scouted for MSBY?  _ Where  _ has he heard that name before?

“‘Course it does!” Bokuto chirps. “Hinata was my little owlet! My—my—my provolone!”

“Protege,” Sakusa corrects as he passes by, his eyes glued to his phone. 

“Yeah, that!” Bokuto agrees. 

Atsumu furrows his eyebrows. “So ya knew him in high school?”

Bokuto nods. “Yeah! He went to—uh—what’s that one? With the—the ravens?”

“Crows?” Atsumu asks, tilting his head to the side. Bokuto nods and snaps his fingers. 

“That’s the one!” he exclaims. “Hinata was their tiny middle blocker! But he wanted to be ace. I wonder if he ever got to be.”

Hinata Shouyou, tiny middle blocker, team of crows—

“Oh,” Atsumu breathes. “That’s where I know him from.” 

It’d be hard to forget a match like that one, after all. Neither Karasuno nor Inarizaki made it far enough to match up against each other in the following year, so even though Hinata had seemed interesting initially, Atsumu had mostly forgotten about him. It’d be impossible to forget that quick attack though, the one that seemed to work so  _ seamlessly,  _ in ways he and Osamu never had. Atsumu had chosen not to read into that in high school, and he continues to not read into it now that he’s remembered. 

“He was a lil’ shrimpy thing, yeah?” he asks, closing his water bottle and depositing it back on the bench before he follows Bokuto over to the court to resume practice. 

“Yep!” Bokuto says brightly. “He was real little. Like, uh, 160 centimeters! I think. Maybe.”

Atsumu hums as he spins the volleyball in his hand, watching Bokuto trot over to the other side of the net to work on his receives. 

Hinata Shouyou. 

Atsumu tosses the ball up into the air. 

He wonders if the kid could still do that quick attack. Wonders what it would feel like to be the one delivering that seamless set, to be the one working in tandem with him. 

Atsumu slams the ball into the opposite court, so fast Bokuto has no chance of receiving it. Bokuto whines, loudly, about how Atsumu is supposed to at least let him  _ try,  _ but Atsumu pays him no mind and retrieves a new volleyball. 

Hinata Shouyou.

Atsumu would be lying if he said he isn’t looking forward to seeing him again. 

(Atsumu is very good at lying.)

-

Atsumu’s (second) first impression of Hinata Shouyou is that he is very tan. Very tan, and very muscular, and not at all the little shrimp Atsumu has vague recollections of from his high school days. 

Hinata arrives a few days after Meian and the coaches announced to the team that they’d be gaining a new outside hitter. Hinata walks into practice late, spewing apologies and claiming that someone had almost hit his bike with a car, but Atsumu hasn’t been paying attention to anything he’s saying, too distracted by the fact that Hinata looks like he was made of  _ sunlight.  _ His skin is a golden tan, his hair a bright orange standing out in stark contrast, with sun-kissed freckles peppering his cheeks and a bright light in his smile that makes Atsumu want to put on a pair of sunglasses just to be able to stand looking at him. His shirt hugs his chest and biceps in just the right ways, just the right angles catching beneath the fluorescent lights of the gymnasium where the Black Jackals practice. Most striking though are his eyes—Atsumu remembers those eyes, suddenly. He remembers looking down and seeing hungry eyes staring up at him from behind the net, hungry for  _ more  _ sets,  _ more  _ spikes,  _ more  _ points. A bottomless hunger, an unquenchable desire to be more, to be better. To be the best volleyball had ever seen.

That hunger is still there—Atsumu can see it even on the other side of the gym. But it’s a different kind of hunger, this time. In high school it’d been a hunger tinged with desperation, with self-loathing. A hunger fueled by a crippling knowledge that he wasn’t good enough, that he might not ever be good enough. This hunger is warm, light. Hinata’s confident, he’s self-assured, he knows he’s a damn good volleyball player and he knows that he  _ belongs  _ on a professional team. He knows that his position, his skill, isn’t in question, but he still wants  _ more.  _ Professional isn’t enough—he wants to be the best in Japan, the best in the world. 

“Close your mouth,” Sakusa chastises, glaring at Atsumu with blatant disgust. “You’ll catch flies.”

Atsumu closes his mouth with an audible click and turns away from Hinata Shouyou, away from the sun. 

Something about this is very wrong. That isn’t—there’s no way that’s  _ Hinata Shouyou,  _ Karasuno’s shrimpy middle blocker. Somebody has to be mistaken here. There must be two Hinata Shouyous in Japan who play volleyball and have red, curly hair. The Hinata Shouyou Atsumu remembers is pale and skinny, the only color on his cheeks being the seemingly-permanent rosy flush. The Hinata Shouyou Atsumu remembers has a high, childishly whiny voice and gangly limbs, baby fat making his face round despite the rest of his rail-thin body. He is tiny, and awkward, and a nuisance. 

_ This  _ Hinata Shouyou is—he’s hot, plain and simple. He’s clearly grown several centimeters since Atsumu last saw him, has clearly filled out all of his muscles, has clearly let go of the awkwardness that seemed to cling to his shoulders like a cape in high school. His voice is pitched lower, his face thinner and more—chiseled is the wrong word but Atsumu doesn’t know how else to describe him if he isn’t  _ chiseled.  _ He’s so  _ hot,  _ and Atsumu’s so  _ gay,  _ and there’s no way Atsumu could ever be gay for a teammate who also used to be a shrimpy, awkward, nuisance nobody. 

“Omi-Omi?” Atsumu calls, his voice wavering. Sakusa glares at him. “Will you spike a ball into my face, killing me instantly?”

Sakusa scowls and scoffs, walking fully away from Atsumu and leaving him alone on the court. 

“Well,” Atsumu mutters to himself. “Fuck.”

-

Kita is sitting at the counter when Atsumu walks into Onigiri Miya. Atsumu drags his feet over to the stool next to Kita’s, slumping down over the counter as soon as he’s seated. Kita glances over at him, thinly veiled amusement glittering in their eyes. 

“Long night?” they tease, taking a sip from their travel mug. Atsumu turns his head to the side so that he’s resting on his cheek and can look at his brother’s significant other. He frowns, furrowing his eyebrows. 

“The hell’re ya drinkin’?” he asks, wrinkling his nose at the scent of cleaner on the surface of the counter. “Ya don’t like coffee.”

Kita takes another sip, smiling softly. “It’s hot chocolate. Osamu made it.” 

Atsumu sticks out his tongue. “‘Samu’s hot chocolate ain’t any good.”

“Says you,” Osamu says, appearing from where he’s been apparently working in the kitchen. He grabs a rag and spray cleaner from underneath the counter before walking toward the dining room area to wipe down tables, though not without first pressing a kiss to the crown of Kita’s head and then smacking Atsumu upside the head as he passes by. “I’ll have ya know that Shinsuke actually  _ appreciates  _ me ‘n the things I make.”

“Poor Kita,” Atsumu simpers. “Ya’ve brainwashed them.”

“I’ll kill ya, don’t think I won’t,” Osamu threatens, spraying the nearest table and scrubbing its surface with the rag. “What’re ya doin’ here, anyway?”

Atsumu sits up, gasping in mock offense. “Am I not allowed to visit my dear baby brother ‘n his lovely significant other?”

Osamu straightens up, fixing Atsumu with a severely unimpressed expression. “No.”

Atsumu grumbles and slouches over the counter again, flopping forward and beginning to trace nonsensical shapes into the smooth surface. Osamu mutters something about how Atsumu is dirtying the counter, but he doesn’t otherwise protest. 

“Hinata Shouyou just joined the team,” Atsumu finally says. 

Osamu grunts. “Who?”

Kita hums softly. “Karasuno first year, right?”

Atsumu snorts. “Not anymore he ain’t.”

Kita rolls their eyes. “I gathered that much, thanks.”

Atsumu whines. “He’s all tan and hot and sunshine-y,” he moaned. “What’m I s’posed to  _ do?” _

“That’s gay, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu declares, finishing with the tables and returning to stand on the other side of the counter. He leans forward and picks up Kita’s free hand, fidgeting with Kita’s fingers. 

“Please don’t crack my knuckles,” Kita murmurs softly, before they turn to Atsumu. “Do ya have a problem with Hinata?”

Atsumu groans. “‘Course I do! He’s hot! He ain’t allowed to be hot! He’s s’posed to be that lil’ shrimpy kid! Don’t ya guys remember him from the tournament thingy?”

Osamu snorts. “Tournament thingy,” he echoes, still fiddling with Kita’s hand. “Did ya mean  _ nationals?”  _

Atsumu waves a hand. “Same difference.”

Kita hums, drawing both brothers’ attention. “Maybe ya should try talkin’ to Hinata,” they suggest. “He’s probably not as bad as yer makin’ him out to be.”

Atsumu huffs. “Nobody’s allowed to be as hot as he is. ‘S illegal.”

“Just talk to him, wouldya?” Osamu replies. “He ain’t gonna kill ya.”

“Ya don’t know that,” Atsumu argues. 

“Don’t ya have practice?” Osamu says. Atsumu puffs out his cheeks, pouting, and glances at the clock on his phone only to realize that practice starts in thirty minutes and he is currently an hour away from the gym. He stands, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. 

“This ain’t over!” he calls over his shoulder. 

Behind him, Osamu hollers, “Don’t come back!” At the same time, Kita bids him a quiet good luck. Kita really is too good for someone as dumb and mean as Osamu, Atsumu thinks to himself. He wonders if Osamu would think that about him and Hinata. 

-

Kita’s words echo in Atsumu’s head as he runs into practice thirty minutes late, apologizing profusely to Meian and the coaches for his tardiness. They all wave him off, simply directing him to where the rest of the team is practicing serves and receives. Atsumu runs over to the receiving side, lining himself up across from Bokuto. 

“Tsum-Tsum!” Bokuto cheers, serving the ball cleanly into Atsumu’s side of the court. Atsumu bumps it back over the net to Bokuto, who catches it deftly and runs back to the end line to serve again. “Why were you late?” 

“‘Cause ‘Samu’s a jerk!” Atsumu hollers back. “He knew what time it was and didn’t tell me!” 

“You didn’t think maybe you should’ve been watching that yourself?” Sakusa asks, glancing at Atsumu out of the corner of his eyes. Atsumu huffs and pouts, bumping Bokuto’s next serve. 

“Sorry, that’s short!” Atsumu calls, watching the receive veer off course into someone else’s zone. A flash of orange darts forward and slides beneath the net, saving it with the tip of his toe before it can hit the ground and possibly ricochet into someone who isn’t paying attention. Bokuto catches the ball again, grinning down and chirping out a thank you to Hinata. Atsumu scowls. Since when is the stupid shrimp  _ cool _ ? 

Hinata stands up and turns to duck back beneath the net, grinning brightly, but he falters at the sight of Atsumu’s glower. It doesn’t last long—he brightens up again barely a second later—but it’s long enough for Atsumu to notice and feel bad. Atsumu’s scowl deepens as he returns his attention to Bokuto. How the fuck is he supposed to talk to Hinata now that he’s not only hot but  _ cool,  _ too? 

Making up his mind, Atsumu decides he’s never going to talk to Hinata if he doesn’t have to. Kita would be disappointed, but Atsumu can live with that. Kita’s been disappointed in him a million times before when they all played on the same time; once more as adults won’t be any different. Disappointing Kita is better than making a fool of himself in front of Hinata and having to quit the team and move to the Himalayas to raise goats as a nameless recluse.

“Tsum-Tsum!” Bokuto whines. “You turned all frowny!”

Atsumu bumps the serve back over the net. “Yer seein’ things!” he retorts, forcing the scowl off of his face. Bokuto doesn’t seem convinced, but Atsumu ignores him and instead focuses on the receiving. All he has to do is get through practice, and then he can go home and he won’t have to worry about Hinata at all. 

Until the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that. 

This plan suddenly seems much harder.

-

After practice, Hinata corners Atsumu in the locker room. 

“Did I do something to you?” he asks, painfully innocent and confused. Atsumu feels a little bad for being so rude to the poor guy. 

Atsumu tugs his shirt on, electing not to answer. 

Hinata tilts his head to the side. “I mean—are you still mad we beat you at Nationals that one time? ‘Cause we lost right after that, if it makes you feel any better.” 

It doesn’t, but Atsumu appreciates the thought. 

“We’re teammates now, y’know,” Hinata continues. “Teammates have to talk to each other.”

Atsumu turns to Hinata, fully intending to apologize or bullshit his way through an excuse, but all that comes out is, “Get the fuck off of my team.”

Hinata blinks, eyes wide. Atsumu stares down at him for several minutes as his own words register in his mind, before he grabs his bag and books it out of the locker room as fast as he possibly can, all the while ignoring Hinata calling out after him.

He wonders how much real estate in the Himalayas costs.

-

Osamu’s annoyed face is the first thing Atsumu sees when the video call connects later that evening. It takes a second for him to move back to continue preparing dinner—Atsumu can tell he’s in his kitchen by the cabinets behind him. There’s a used mug sitting next to the sink in the far left of the frame, as well as fresh vegetables waiting to be chopped on the counter below the cabinets. 

“What the fuck d’ya want?” Osamu huffs. 

Atsumu watches him work for a moment, before he sighs, long and dramatic—the only way to sigh properly—and declares, “I’m movin’ to Antarctica.”

Osamu raises an eyebrow. For a moment, the only sound coming through the speakers of Atsumu’s phone is the repeated thud of the knife against the cutting board as Osamu chops something for dinner. Then, Osamu leans away from the microphone and calls, “Hey, love?” 

Atsumu gags. Kita and Osamu are so sappy, it gives him cavities just to be around them. 

From somewhere else in the apartment, Kita’s voice calls back, “Yeah?”

“Can a person survive in Antarctica?”

There’s silence for a few moments, before suddenly Kita—clad in a very large Onigiri Miya sweatshirt that most definitely does not belong to them, barf—pads into frame and says, “Well, yes, but the only people who live there are scientists. It ain’t a climate a normal person could survive in. Why d’ya ask?”

Osamu turns to the camera and says, “I’ll say somethin’ nice at yer funeral.”

Atsumu gasps, affronted. “Yer not even gonna ask  _ why?”  _ he wails. “Yer just gonna let me go off ‘n  _ die?  _ I thought we had somethin’, ‘Samu!” 

Osamu rolls his eyes, at the same time Kita comes up behind Osamu to hook their chin over his shoulder and snake their arms around his waist. Revolting. 

“Why the fuck would I ask when I know yer just gonna tell me anyway?” Osamu drawls, dumping a cutting board full of chopped carrots into a skillet. He inclines his head toward Kita, murmuring, “Grab me the broccoli, will ya, love?”

Kita disappears behind Osamu for a moment, returning with broccoli. Osamu rewards them with a kiss on the forehead, bringing a pleased smile to Kita’s face.

Atsumu is so caught up in watching the exchange, he almost forgets to complain and lament about the atrocity that is his life and further inform the two of them about his plans for real estate at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean.

“Can we get back to me now, please?” Atsumu demands, his voice only a little bit shrill. 

Osmau rolls his eyes again, at the same time Kita turns to look at the camera and says, “I’m sorry, Atsumu. What is it?” 

Atsumu huffs. “This is why yer too good for my good-for-nothin’ brother,” Atsumu informs them. Kita hums, thinly veiled amusement glittering in their eyes as Osamu scoffs quietly. “I have to move very far away very soon.”

“How come?” Kita asks. 

“I made a fool of myself in front of Hinata,” Atsumu laments. 

“Ya make a fool of yerself just by breathin’,” Osamu drawls. “Whatever ya did can’t be more embarrassin’ than bein’ alive.”

Atsumu glares, momentarily distracted from his whining by Osamu’s annoying-ness. He remembers himself a moment later, and cries, “I told him to get the fuck off of my team!” 

Everything goes painfully silent. Osamu stops chopping the broccoli, the knife half-raised, as he stares wide-eyed at the camera. Kita wears a similarly shocked expression. Atsumu’s soul shrivels up and dies a little more with each passing second. 

“Say somethin’!” he demands. “Don’t just sit ‘n gawk at me!” 

Kita recovers first, gently prying the knife out of Osamu’s hands as they ask, “Can ya explain to me how ya got to that point?” 

Atsumu whines. “I was glarin’ at him durin’ practice ‘cause he was bein’ cool and I couldn’t let him go ‘n be cool ‘n make me think he’s any  _ more  _ attractive, but then after practice he tried to confront me and I tried to apologize but all that I ended up sayin’ was ‘get the fuck off of my team!’”

Again, silence rings for a few moments, before Osamu bursts out laughing—real, guttural laughing. He wheezes in between bouts of laughter, doubling over and clutching his gut as Kita rubs his shoulder. Even Kita appears to be stifling a smile, which is how Atsumu knows he’s well and truly hopeless. 

It takes several moments for Kita to finally take a deep breath and ask, “How d’ya say somethin’ like that on  _ accident?” _

Atsumu wails. “I don’t  _ know! _ It just happened!” 

“Yer so fuckin’ stupid!” Osamu crows, wheezing. “I didn’t know it was possible for a person to fuck up that bad, holy  _ fuck.”  _

“Shut up!” Atsumu huffs, glaring. “Yer so mean!”

“I’m not even bein’ mean,” Osamu shoots back, wiping his eyes as his laughter begins to subside. “Ya just make it so fuckin’ easy to make fun of ya.”

“I hate you,” Atsumu pouts. 

Osamu rolls his eyes. “Then why’d ya call? Oh, right—’cause ya don’t have any other friends.”

“I have friends!” Atsumu protests. “Lots of ‘em!” 

“Right,” Osamu nods, “‘cause tellin’ people to—what was it? Get the fuck off of yer team? Yeah, that really forges strong bonds.”

“I’m gonna block yer number,” Atsumu threatens. 

“Do it,” Osamu replies. “Coward.” 

“What would ya do without me as yer taste-tester?” Atsumu retorts. 

“Shinsuke is literally right next to me,” Osamu deadpans. “I don’t need ya to be my guinea pig anymore.”

“Guinea pig?” Kita echoes. 

Osamu turns to look at them. “I mean it in the best way.”

Kita smiles. “I know,” they say. “Guinea pigs are cute, anyway.”

Osamu hums, pressing a kiss to Kita’s forehead. “Just like you.”

Atsumu gags loudly. “Watch the fuckin’ PDA!” he cries. “There are innocent eyes watchin’!” 

“Yer eyes haven’t been innocent a day in yer life, ya dirty rat,” Osamu snaps. 

Atsumu scowls. “I dunno why I thought a bitch like you would ever be able to help me in my time of need,” he huffs. 

“If I’m a bitch, then yer a bastard,” Osamu replies, returning to chopping his broccoli. He appears to have checked out of the conversation for the most part, the rat. He should be treasuring every minute Atsumu chooses to grace him with his presence.

Kita rests their head on Osamu’s shoulder. “What’re ya gonna do ‘bout Hinata?”

Atsumu wrinkles his nose, closing his eyes. “Die.”

Kita chuckles. “Don’tcha think that’s a bit dramatic?” 

“ _ I’m  _ dramatic, Kita,” Atsumu replies. “I thought this was common knowledge.” 

Kita hums. “Yanno, ya could just  _ talk  _ to him.”

“Like a normal person would,” Osamu adds. 

“Shove it, ‘Samu,” Atsumu snaps. To Kita, he says, “What the fuck would I even say? ‘Sorry for bein’ unnecessarily hostile, please don’t hate me for the rest of our lives ‘cause I definitely objectified ya at least twenty-seven times in my head when we first met and I kinda wanna date ya’?” 

Mirth glitters in Kita’s eyes. “Maybe not in so many words.”

Atsumu whines, long and loud. 

“Go eat a fuckin’ Snickers or somethin’,” Osamu huffs. “Hungry ‘Tsumu is even more insufferable than Normal ‘Tsumu.”

Atsumu frowns. “But I’m not—”

The screen abruptly goes dark. The bastard hung up on him. Atsumu scowls and pulls up his texts with Osamu, sending him a particularly vulgar string of curses and insults before he shuts off his phone and drops his head backward against the armrest of the couch. 

Kita’s probably right, he muses. He could just talk to Hinata and clear everything up—Hinata doesn’t seem like the type who’s physically capable of holding a grudge. 

_Or_ , another part of Atsumu’s brain whispers, _he could die._

Atsumu thinks he likes the second option better. 

-

When Atsumu trudges back into practice the next morning after a truly awful night of sleep, it’s to find Akaashi speaking quietly with Bokuto outside of the locker room. Both of them nod in greeting as Atsumu approaches, Bokuto waving and smiling brightly while Akaashi continues talking. Atsumu doesn’t mean to eavesdrop—honestly, he does have  _ some  _ manners—but he catches a name that piques his interest. 

“Osamu told me yesterday,” Akaashi says, reaching out to take one of Bokuto’s hands. He begins to trace nonsensical shapes on the back of Bokuto’s hand, which Atsumu recognizes as something he does to help Bokuto stay grounded and focused. But that’s not what gave Atsumu pause—no, Atsumu wants to know why the hell Akaashi is talking about Osamu. Akaashi and Osamu have been friends for a while, thanks to Akaashi’s affinity for Osamu’s food, but what could Osamu have told Akaashi that he hasn’t told Atsumu? He’s supposed to tell Atsumu everything; it’s in the twin code and everything. 

(Literally—Atsumu still has the shitty notebook they wrote their twin code in when the two of them were, like, eight years old.)

“It made me think,” Akaashi continues. “Would you ever want to get married?”

Atsumu’s brain screeches to seven different halts in approximately three seconds. First: Akaashi and Bokuto are  _ dating?  _ Second: Akaashi and Bokuto have been dating for long enough to get  _ married?  _ Third: Osamu said something to Akaashi about  _ marriage?  _ Fourth: Osamu is going to  _ propose to Kita?  _ Fifth: Osamu said something about this to  _ Akaashi?  _ Sixth:  _ Before he told Atsumu?  _

And seventh: What the ever-loving  _ fuck?  _

Atsumu takes a deep breath. His hand is literally on the door to the locker room. He has practice. He has to be at practice. He can’t go running off to yell at Osamu for having the  _ audacity  _ to withhold such  _ vital information  _ from Atsumu. 

But,  _ oh,  _ he really, really wants to.

“Fuck it,” he mutters, spinning on his heel and heading right back out the door to the gym onto the street. He ignores the sound of Bokuto calling out after him, glancing back and forth before he darts to the other side of the street and hightails it in the direction of Onigiri Miya, all the while steaming with rage at his idiot, good-for-nothing, stupid, bastard, motherfucking bitch of a brother.

The journey from the gym to Onigiri Miya passes in a blur of mostly blind rage. Onigiri Miya isn’t open yet when Atsumu arrives, which is lucky, because Atsumu is in the mood to cause a scene and Osamu hates it when he does that in front of customers (for valid reason, but Atsumu is too angry to think about that right now).

He shoves open the back door after using his key to unlock it, storming through the kitchen toward the main dining room. Osamu is standing behind the counter, leafing through bills as he prepares the cash drawer for the morning rush. He glances up at the sound of Atsumu slamming his way toward the counter, frowning. 

Atsumu stops standing opposite Osamu, the counter the only barrier between them. He breathes heavily, his shoulders heaving with every inhale.

Osamu raises an eyebrow. “Can I help ya?” 

“Why would ya tell Akaashi ‘bout gettin’ married before ya told  _ me?”  _ Atsumu demands. “I’m yer twin! Yer supposed to tell me everythin’ first! It’s in the twin code and everythin’, ya stupid bastard!” 

Osamu huffs, rolling his eyes as he returns to counting the money. “Yer makin’ a big deal outta nothin’, dipshit.”

“I am  _ not,”  _ Atsumu protests, leaning forward against the counter. He white-knuckles the edge of it, glaring hotly at Osamu, who isn’t paying attention to him even a little bit. “Yer gonna propose to Kita! ‘N ya didn’t even  _ tell me!” _

“It’s not like I was never gonna tell ya,” Osamu drawls. “I just ain’t had the chance to yet.”

“A likely excuse,” Atsumu sniffs.

Osamu rolls his eyes, lowering the stack of bills in his hands to send Atsumu a sharp glare. “It ain’t an excuse, ya big lug. I was gonna tell ya, honest. But I only made the decision recently, ‘n every time you were around, Shinsuke was there, too! I can’t very well go and spoil all my proposal plans just ‘cause yer a sensitive baby boy.”

It’s a logical reason, all things considered. But for some reason, Atsumu’s anger and indignation hasn’t dissipated yet. “I’m still mad at you!” Atsumu declares. 

Osamu lifts an eyebrow. “What’d I do now?”

“Ya can’t  _ beat me!”  _ Atsumu shrieks. “Ya can’t beat me to a happily ever after! How am I supposed to be happier than you at age eighty if ya’ve been married for longer?” 

“Oh my god,” Osamu mutters. “Would ya take a fuckin’ breath, pal? It ain’t a competition.”

“Of course it’s a competition!” Atsumu retorts. “Everythin’s a competition! Fuck you!”

Osamu rolls his eyes again. He’s going to get dizzy, at the rate he’s going. “Yer insufferable.”

“I’m gonna bring a date to yer weddin’!” Atsumu declares. “‘N me ‘n my date are gonna be happier than you ‘n Kita! Mark my fuckin’ words!” 

Osamu resumes counting the cash drawer. “Mhm,” he hums, “I’m sure ya will.”

Atsumu scowls. “Is that a  _ challenge?”  _

Osamu snorts. “Yup, definitely,” he drawls. “Ten thousand yen says ya ain’t gonna be happier than me on my  _ weddin’  _ day.” 

“Bet,” Atsumu spits. 

As Atsumu reaches across the counter to shake hands on their bet, Osamu looks up, grinning. “I think I found a flaw in yer plan, ‘Tsumu.”

“Oh?” Atsumu asks, raising an eyebrow. He crosses his arms over his chest. “What’s that?”

“Yer single,” Osamu points out. “Depressingly, incredibly, undoubtedly  _ single.” _

Atsumu’s mouth goes dry. He—he really didn’t think this through, did he? But he can’t forfeit the bet now that they’ve officially made it. That would count as another win for Osamu, and Atsumu would rather die than willingly add to Osamu’s win-tally. 

“I have time to find one,” Atsumu says, his voice wavering only slightly. 

Osamu snickers. “Good luck findin’ someone with the patience to put up with ya,” he shoots back. “I know I wouldn’t if we weren’t related.”

“Fuck off,” Atsumu huffs, spinning on his heel to leave. 

“Don’t let the door hit ya on the way out!” Osamu calls over his shoulder. Once he’s out of the restaurant and back on the streets, which are slowly crowding with the regular morning rush of traffic, Atsumu realizes how well and truly screwed he is. He doesn’t have time to find a  _ date;  _ he practices all day every day. The only people he regularly interacts with outside of volleyball are Osamu and Kita, and the only viable option there is undeniably taken. 

“Well, fuck,” Atsumu mumbles. “The hell ‘m I gonna do  _ now?”  _

Sometimes, he really wishes he knew when to the shut the hell up. If he did, he might not have gotten himself into this situation.

-

Sakusa is, predictably, not at all piteous to Atsumu’s current problems. He scowls at Atsumu on the other side of his doorway, looking at Atsumu with a disgusted gaze akin to someone staring at dogshit on the sidewalk. 

“I’m dyin’,” Atsumu tells him.

“Good riddance,” Sakusa retorts, moving to close the door. 

Atsumu whines. “Aw, Omi, can’t ya find it in yer shriveled heart to feel sorry for me?”

“No,” Sakusa replies. “You did this to yourself. Go away.”

Atsumu sighs. If it were anyone else, he might’ve continued to needle and whine, but Atsumu knows that when it comes to Sakusa, it’s better to quit while he’s ahead, or at the very least not miles behind. He’s about to turn and walk away, when suddenly Sakusa opens his door again. He heaves a heavy sigh, having outfitted himself with both gloves and a mask in the few seconds Atsumu had been left alone in the hallway. 

“Make it fast,” Sakusa snaps. “I don’t want to have dinner with you.”

Atsumu grins. “Omi-Omi  _ does  _ love me.”

Sakusa rolls his eyes, giving Atsumu a wide berth as he steps into the apartment. “Don’t kid yourself.”

Atsumu pulls up his own face mask, in order to preserve at least a small part of Sakusa’s peace of mind, and lingers in the entryway. 

Sakusa crosses his arms. “What’s the problem?”

Atsumu whines at the reminder. “I gotta find a date.”

“So?” Sakusa raises an eyebrow. “You’ve never had a problem getting around before.”

Atsumu squints. “Omi, are ya slut-shamin’ me?”

Sakusa rolls his eyes hard enough that Atsumu feels it in  _ his  _ temples. “That’s not what I meant and you know it, you insufferable country bumpkin.” 

Atsumu huffs. “I can’t just bring some rando to my stupid brother’s weddin’, Omi! I’ll never live it down!” 

Sakusa’s eyes widen infinitesimally. “You didn’t say you needed a date to a  _ wedding _ , idiot.”

“Yeah,” Atsumu moans. “Stupid ‘Samu. Why’d he have to go ‘n get married?”

Sakusa makes a face that is likely a lot more scathing sans mask, but Atsumu feels the chill from the glare all the same. Atsumu waves his hands before Sakusa even has a chance to speak, knowing exactly what degree of lecture he’s about to be slapped with. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know yer just gonna tell me that I should be happy for him ‘cause he’s my brother ‘n I love him ‘n he’s gettin’ married ‘n all that sappy jazz,” Atsumu lists, making a face. “But have ya considered: I have to beat him at everythin’ all the time or I  _ will  _ die?”

Sakusa just stares. Atsumu didn’t know it was possible for a person to have that much disdain in their eyes. 

Atsumu whines, long and loud. “Omi-Omi, why can’t ya ever feel bad for me when I have problems?”

“Your problems are almost always of your own making,” Sakusa retorts. “If you were fucking civilized, 90% of this shit wouldn’t happen to you at all.”

Atsumu pouts. 

Sakusa sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why do you even  _ need  _ a date?”

“‘Cause I made a bet with ‘Samu that I’d have a date to his weddin’ ‘n we’d be happier than he and Kita are,” Atusmu replies. 

Sakusa stares at him for several long seconds, as if he can’t wrap around his mind the bullshit Atsumu has just told him. Finally, he steeples his fingers in front of his face, takes a deep breath, and says, “Get out.”

Atsumu blinks. “What?”

“Get out,” Sakusa repeats. “I can’t—I can’t even look at you right now. How the  _ fuck _ can you possibly be  _ this fucking stupid?” _

“Why are ya so mean to me, Omi-Omi?” Atsumu wails, already moving toward the door. “Yer not even gonna try ‘n help me? How ‘m I supposed to find a date when we’re practicin’ all the time?”

“Download Tinder,” Sakusa shoots back. “And don’t come to my place ever again.” 

The door slams in Atsumu’s face before he even has time to react. Atsumu sighs, tugging off the face mask and scrubbing a hand down his face. He isn’t entirely sure why he thought Sakusa might be willing to help him, but he’d been Atsumu’s only option, really. 

What the hell did he get himself into?

-

Atsumu arrives early for practice the next day, so early that even Meian hasn’t made it to the gym yet. He changes quickly, stowing all of this things in his locker with little decorum before he heads out to the main gym to begin setting up his favorite net. He practices his serves in solitude for a while, his mind spinning a thousand miles an hour. When he gets into a mood like this, it’s very easy for Atsumu to zone out.

The sound of the ball hitting muscle instead of the gym floor is what snaps Atsumu back to reality. He blinks, turning his gaze to the side of the court opposite where he’s standing, only to see Hinata crouched on the court. The ball falls back onto Atsumu’s court, dropping with a dull  _ thud  _ and rolling until it hits Atsumu’s toe. Hinata grins, straightening up. 

“Gah, that one stung—I forgot how strong your serves are!” he chirps. “We should practice together more!”

Either Atsumu is having a stroke, or Hinata looks like he’s glowing beneath the fluorescent lights of the gymnasium. It isn’t fair—lights like these, harsh white fluorescents, are supposed to highlight every bad feature a person has. People are supposed to look washed out, ghastly, sometimes even  _ sick  _ under gymnasium lights. So why does Hinata look  _ good?  _

Atsumu scowls, bending down to pick up the ball. He turns away, carrying it back over the end line and winding up to serve again. Hinata doesn’t seem put out by Atsumu’s sour mood—if anything, the promise of another chance to receive makes him look  _ more  _ excited, even if Atsumu clearly doesn’t want to be working with him. Atsumu wonders, idly, if there’s even a way to dampen Hinata’s high spirited nature. 

He’s not sure he wants to find out. 

They go back and forth for a while, neither of them speaking. Hinata appears to have picked up on Atsumu’s grumpiness, or at the very least understands that Atsumu doesn’t really want to talk to him at the moment. Atsumu feels bad about being such a bitch to Hinata—really, he does—but by now it’s been going on for so long that it’d be weird if Atsumu was suddenly personable and nice. 

Finally, when the others are beginning to trickle into the gym—come to think of it, what’s Hinata doing here so early?—Hinata catches a ball instead of bumping it and asks, “Is something bugging you?”

Atsumu falters. 

“Sorry if I’m overstepping,” Hinata amends. “You just don’t seem to be serving at 100%.”

Atsumu grunts. “Are ya tryin’ to tell me that a high schooler could serve better than this?” 

Hinata’s eyes widen. “What? No, I—”

“Forget it,” Atsumu snaps, hating himself with every bitter syllable that leaves the tip of his tongue. “Let’s just go ‘n see what the coach wants us to do today.” 

He walks off, leaving Hinata alone on the court. Hinata, at the very least, doesn’t call out after him. Atsumu can’t decide if that disappoints him. 

The rest of practice passes uneventfully. Atsumu spends it as he normally would: He does whatever drills the coach or Meian ask of him, they play a few rounds of two-on-two, Atsumu avoids Hinata like the plague, and then they all run laps before they close the gym as their cool-down exercise. 

Atsumu ends up walking out of the gym with Bokuto, Bokuto texting Akaashi while wearing the handle of his practice bag on his forehead. He looks ridiculous, but Atsumu figures that there isn’t really a time Bokuto  _ doesn’t  _ look like that; even when he isn’t trying to, Bokuto seems to have a habit of goofing off unique to himself that makes him stand out from the rest of the general population. 

Atsumu tilts his head back to watch the sky as the two of them trek toward the train station, thinking about Osamu, Osamu’s wedding, Atsumu’s date to Osamu’s wedding, and definitely not Hinata.

“Bokkun,” Atsumu says. Bokuto hums and lifts his eyes from his phone to look at Atsumu. Atsumu bites his lip. “I need a date to ‘Samu’s weddin’,” Atsumu starts. “Someone who I can pretend to be happy with so that I can rub it in ‘Samu’s face.”

Bokuto blinks. 

“Will ya be my date?” Atsumu asks. “Just for one day?”

Bokuto winces. “Uh—I’m supposed to go with Akaashi, I think. Sorry, Tsum-Tsum. Have you tried asking Sakusa?”

Atsumu nods. “Believe his exact words were, ‘I would rather run myself over with a bus, back up, and run myself over again.’”

“Oof,” Bokuto says. He furrows his brow, clearly thinking. “Why don’tcha look for a real partner? Then ya might not have to pretend!” 

Atsumu groans. “That’s so much  _ work.  _ ‘N I wouldn’t have time, anyway; practice keeps us so busy as it is.” 

Bokuto shrugs. “You could always try Tinder, right? I bet lots of people on there would wanna date you!”

“Yeah,” Atsumu agrees, “but all the crazies turn to online datin’!” 

“You could ask Hinata,” Bokuto suggests. He looks up, glancing around the train station. “My platform’s this way. See you tomorrow, Tsum-Tsum!” 

Atsumu lifts a hand and waves as Bokuto disappears amidst the crowd of patrons all trying to get home in a rush. Several people shove past him, some muttering apologies, others sending him dirty looks. Atsumu is too tired to curse them out as he might’ve on a normal day.

All things considered, Bokuto  _ is  _ right. Atsumu’s only options at this point seem to be either Hinata or a Tinder date. But if Atsumu starts going on Tinder, and ends up in a bad situation (as he has a feeling he will), what the hell’s he gonna do to get himself out of it? It almost seems safer to just date Hinata, were it not for the facts that A) Atsumu is super duper gay for Hinata and B) Atsumu has spent the last week acting like a total douche to Hinata. 

Atsumu pulls out his phone. Tinder it is, as much as he doesn’t like the idea of it. But trying to ask Hinata for help would also mean that Atsumu would have to apologize for being an ass, and the only thing Atsumu is bad at is apologizing. 

(And cooking, sewing, cleaning, folding laundry, math, etc. Osamu could probably give a whole slew of things Atsumu sucks at. 

But that’s neither here nor there.)

Tinder is already halfway downloaded by the time Atsumu’s train pulls up to the platform. Atsumu steps into the train car, taking one of the vacant seats near the back between a teenager dressed entirely in black and a little old woman with a (hopefully) empty cat carrier on her lap. He opens the app as soon as it finishes loading, clicking the option to create a profile. To be truthful, he doesn’t put very much effort into his bio, just types out the first blurb of information that comes to mind. 

_ Miya Atsumu, 22, pro volleyball player. Volleyball is virtually all I talk about; no, I won’t apologize for it. _

Deeming it good enough, Atsumu pulls up his photo album to pick a couple of pictures for his profile and call it a day. Once he’s finished and satisfied that the pictures don’t show any of his less-flattering features—not that he has any, mind you—Atsumu switches off his phone and slips it back into his jacket pocket. Neither the old woman nor the teenager pay him any mind as he shifts his attention from his phone screen to the window on the other side of the train car. Atsumu watches the city pass by in a blur, wondering if the stupid Tinder profile will work. 

He really,  _ really  _ doesn’t want to have to ask Hinata for help with this. Especially since both Osamu and Kita already know how fucking  _ gay  _ and useless Atsumu is when it comes to Hinata; they’d never believe Atsumu somehow scored a date with the formerly-shrimpy carrot top.

For the nth time in the last few days, Atsumu wonders just what the hell he’s gotten himself into.

-

“Tsum-Tsum!” Bokuto chirps, bouncing over to where Atsumu is stretching to cool down his muscles post-practice. Atsumu glances up at the other man, raising an eyebrow. “Are you coming with us after practice?”

Atsumu blinks. “Where’re ya goin’?”

“The bar!” Bokuto replies. “We’re all gonna get drinks!” 

Atsumu wrinkles his nose. “I would love to, Bokkun, but unfortunately I got a date after practice.”

Bokuto brightens. “A  _ date?  _ Who’s it with? Are you excited? Where are you guys gonna go?”

Atsumu stands up, chuckling. “I dunno, I matched with someone on Tinder and he’s gonna pick the venue.” 

“Right, because that doesn’t sound like a murder waiting to happen,” Sakusa drawls, passing by the two of them on his way to the locker room. Atsumu scowls and sends a rude gesture to the back of Sakusa’s head. 

“It’ll be fine,” Atsumu insists at the worried crease between Bokuto’s eyebrows. 

“If you’re sure,” Bokuto says. “I hope you have lots of fun, Tsum-Tsum! We’ll miss you!”

Just before he enters the locker room, Sakusa mutters, “Speak for yourself.”

Atsumu glances back at Bokuto. “Are all y’all goin’ out tonight?” 

Bokuto scrunches up his nose, ticking off names on his fingers. “Well, there’s me, Meian, Sakusa—I know right, I can’t believe he agreed—Inunaki, Barnes, Adriah—oh!” Bokuto snaps his fingers. “Hinata’s not going. I dunno why.” 

Atsumu’s eyes seek out Hinata doing lunges on the other side of the gym of their own accord. He watches the way Hinata’s muscle move and ripple smoothly between positions for a few moments, before wrenching his gaze back to Bokuto.

Bokuto grins. “If your date doesn’t work out, you should hang out with Hinata!” 

Atsumu glances at Hinata at the same time the redhead lifts his head to blink curiously at Bokuto and Atsumu. Hinata smiles softly and waves when their eyes meet. Atsumu feels his cheeks flush and he scowls, averting his eyes. 

“Whatever,” Atsumu huffs. “I’m goin’ to change. See ya ‘round, Bokkun.”

Bokuto waves. “Bye-bye, Tsum-Tsum! See you tomorrow!”

Atsumu can feel Hinata’s eyes on him all the way up until the locker room door closes behind him. He sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face and pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Sakusa drawls, not even bothering to look up from his phone. Atsumu sticks out his tongue at him and heads for his locker. Sakusa finishes grabbing his things, but he pauses once he’s closed his locker. Atsumu frowns at him, quirking an eyebrow. “You know,” Sakusa starts, “Hinata’s not that bad. You two might actually tolerate each other, if you would stop glaring at him every time he has the audacity to breathe in your vicinity.” 

He’s gone before Atsumu is even finished fully processing what he’s just said. 

-

Atsumu considers calling Osamu to hype him up before the date, staring at himself at the mirror as he repeated straightens the cuffs of his dress shirt. The restaurant his date picked isn’t so high end that Atsumu thinks he’ll need a tie or a blazer, but it’s classy enough that Atsumu’s day-to-day wardrobe of athleisure would make him stick out like a sore thumb. The only problem with this is that it’s been so long since Atsumu was last on a date, or even needed to go anywhere semi-formal, his nice shirts don’t fit, hugging his biceps and stretching across his back uncomfortably tight. Part of him thinks he looks ridiculous, but a much bigger part of him  _ knows  _ he’ll look ridiculous if he shows up in a t-shirt, and he most definitely doesn’t have time to go out and buy a shirt in a bigger size. Since when did he get this beefy, anyway? He used to be so lean. 

Atsumu’s phone chimes, reminding him that he needs to leave in five minutes or he’ll be late. He sighs, running a hand through his hair and watching as the neatly arranged locks are suddenly tousled beyond belief. He sighs, knowing he doesn’t have time to fix it. Why is he like this? 

With one last glance at his reflection, Atsumu grabs his phone, wallet, and keys, before practically sprinting down to the lobby of his apartment building. If he hurries, he’ll still be able to make the train and he won’t have to run to his date, which will be good, because he’s pretty sure his date didn’t sign up for dinner with a sweaty pig. Even if Atsumu did state in his profile that he’s an athlete. Whatever. 

The train station is clogged with people, most of whom are making their way up to the streets. Atsumu dimly registers the fact that it’s rush hour—most people working a 9-5 job would be making their way home at this time. Atsumu weaves his way through the throng of people, catching the tail ends of conversations, bumping shoulders, and noticing that somewhere deeper in the station, a saxophone player is busking. Whoever it is picked a good time—Atsumu doesn’t think there’s any other time of the day when the station is busier. 

Atsumu barely makes it to his train before the door closes, grabbing the overhead rail after finding all of the seats occupied. The train lurches and pulls away from the platform, as Atsumu watches a business man outside curse and call out after the departing vehicle. A part of Atsumu feels bad, but for the most part he just snickers to himself as the man stomps his foot and throws his brief case to the ground. 

The ride doesn’t last long. Atsumu disembarks with the rest of the wave of people, following the current to the street. Once outside, he glances around before noticing the restaurant just a few blocks up, so he hastens in that direction. There’s a hostess standing outside the door of the restaurant, completely with a clipboard and an earpiece to contact the employees inside. Atsumu slows his gait as he nears the woman, clearing his throat so that he doesn’t startle her. 

“Heya,” Atsumu greets. 

The woman’s eyes dart down to Atsumu’s slightly-wrinkled, too-tight shirt for less than a second before she makes eye contact and smiles. “Good evening, sir.” The corners of her lips are pulled tight, and the grin doesn’t quite meet her eyes. A quick look inside the restaurant tells Atsumu that he’s underdressed—this isn’t the restaurant he was thinking of, or maybe the only time Atsumu’s been here was with the rest of the team. It’s easy to look well-dressed next to people like Bokuto, who can barely manage to put their shirt on the right way—more than once, they’ve met up at a restaurant and found Bokuto wearing his shirt backward, or wearing it inside out.

“Good evening, sir,” the woman greets. Her grip tightens on the clipboard in her hand. “Do you have a reservation?”

Atsumu shifts his weight. “Er—yeah. Should be under Haruto?” 

The woman scans her list. “Ah, here it is. Your companion has already arrived. I’ll take you to his table.”

“Thanks,” Atsumu says, following the hostess into the restaurant. She weaves between the tables, leading him toward a table for two nestled in the back corner of the room. The lighting is dimmer back here, as if the fancy chandelier in the center of the ceiling doesn’t shine bright enough to illuminate the full room. In hindsight, the chandelier should’ve told Atsumu that the place would be higher class than he’d anticipated. 

Haruto is already sitting at the table, just as the hostess said he’d be. She leaves as soon as Atsumu and Haruto have made eye contact, slipping back toward the door to continue greeting customers. Atsumu lingers near the table’s edge, not entirely sure what to do; he can’t even remember the last time he was out on a date, much less a date at a place as high-end as this one is. 

Haruto nods toward the seat opposite his. “I’d greet you, but I don’t wanna cause a scene. The type of crowd this place attracts isn’t always very open-minded.”

Atsumu slumps into his chair. “I getcha. Yer Haruto, I presume?” 

“My Tinder profile doesn’t do me justice, does it?” Haruto asks, leaning back slightly and puffing out his chest. Atsumu resists the urge to cringe. 

“Ya look better n person, if that’s what yer askin’,” Atsumu eventually says. “But I think everyone does.”

Haruto grins. Something about his gaze feels about as good as the slimy film on Atsumu’s teeth when he forgets to brush them before bed. “Your profile certainly didn’t prepare me for these rippling muscles you’ve got going on. I mean, really—your shirt can barely contain you!”

Atsumu tenses and feels a stitch in his sleeve pop. “Ha, yeah,” he says, his teeth gritted. He clears his throat, lifts his menu. “Should we order?”

Haruto reaches across the table and lowers Atsumu’s menu. “Not yet. I wanna keep getting to know you.”

Atsumu doesn’t remember dates being this uncomfortable. Then again, when he went on dates in high school, his companion usually wasn’t undressing him with their eyes. At least—not this blatantly. Still, Atsumu needs this date to go well if he ever wants to beat Osamu in the bet, so he forces a laugh and says, “Why? I feel like I already know ya better than my own best friend.”

Haruto grins, but it looks more like a leer. This interaction feels a little like the things his father taught him to blow a safety whistle over back when he and Osamu first started dating. Not that either of them ever needed a safety whistle—back home, two volleyball stars had been people you don’t mess with. 

Atsumu supposes he doesn’t get the same courtesy in the city. 

Something brushes up against Atsumu’s leg, trying to get underneath the hem of his pant legs. Atsumu pulls his leg beneath his chair and thanks his past self for choosing skinny jeans. 

Haruto practically purrs. “Playing coy, are we?” he asks. “That’s okay; I like a challenge.”

Yeah, no. 

Atsumu pushes away from the table. “I’ll be—back,” he says, making a beeline for the mens’ room. There’s nobody else in there when Atsumu bursts in, so Atsumu darts into a stall and yanks his phone out of his pocket. He scrolls through his contacts, only a little frantic. 

Osamu picks up after the third ring. “What the fuck d’ya want?” he huffs. “No—don’t answer; I don’t wanna know. ‘M busy, so I can’t help ya with whatever bullshit ya’ve gotten up to this time. Goodbye.” 

The line clicks, then it goes dead. Atsumu pulls his phone away from his ear, scowling. The nerve of Osamu, abandoning Atsumu in his time of need. Atsumu vows to remember this, going back to his contacts. There’s Kita, who’s probably busy with whatever Osamu is doing. Dad’s back home, and also Atsumu would never call him for something like this, even if he does feel like Haruto is literally seconds away from jumping Atsumu’s bones. Sakusa and the rest of the team are drinking or drunk, Bokuto’s  _ definitely  _ drunk, Aran is in a different city entirely, so’s Suna, which leaves—

Hinata Shouyou. Only in Atsumu’s phone for professional purposes.

Saving Atsumu from the slimiest, most uncomfortable night of his life is professional, right? 

Atsumu hits ‘call’ without thinking about it too hard, lifting the phone to his ear and listening to it ring. He exhales a breath through his gritted teeth, mentally pleading that Hinata answers.

Mercifully, Hinata picks up after the sixth ring. “Hello? Did you need something, Atsumu?” 

“I need yer help,” Atsumu blurts. He’s achingly aware of how long he’s been in the bathroom—Haruto will come looking for him soon.

Hinata must detect the urgency of Atsumu’s voice, because he doesn’t even bother questioning it, just says, “What do you need me to do?” 

“Give me an excuse,” Atsumu implores. “Anythin’ to get me outta here.” 

The bathroom door creaks open. The hair on the back of Atsumu’s neck stands on end. 

Haruto’s voice calls, “Miya? You alive in here? It’d be a shame if something as broad as your back went to waste.” 

Atsumu winces. 

“Put me on speaker,” Hinata says. Atsumu does as told, pushing out of the stall and into the main area of the bathroom at the same time Haruto turns the corner and sees him standing near the counter. As if on cue, loud sobbing suddenly echoes from Atsumu’s phone. Haruto jerks, and it takes every muscle in Atsumu’s body not to jump. “Atsumu!” Hinata wails, sobbing loudly and even pretending to hiccup. He’s a pretty good actor, Atsumu has to admit. “My dog died! He ran in front of a c-c-car!” Hinata sniffles, then continues, “And—and then my b-b-boyfriend tried to go get the dog and he got h-hit too!”

Atsumu’s eyes widen. Hinata’s not holding anything back, then. 

“Also, I have c-c-cancer!” Hinata cries. “I got the test results t-t-today!”

Atsumu glances at Haruto, mouthing an apology as Haruto backs slowly out of the bathroom, looking for all the world like he’d rather be literally anywhere else. That works for Atsumu—he’d  _ also  _ rather be anywhere that Haruto isn’t.

As Hinata gasps a big breath to continue, Atsumu cut him off and says, “He’s gone. Ya can stop now.” 

At once, Hinata falls silent. As cheery as always, he asks, “Do you want me to come get you? In case he sticks around?” 

Atsumu hesitates. He hadn’t even considered that possibility, but now that Hinata’s mentioned it, Haruto definitely seems like the type to do something like that. 

“Yeah,” Atsumu breathes. “If it ain’t too much trouble.”

“It’s not!” Hinata replies. “I’m bored, anyway.”

Atsumu frowns. “How come ya didn’t go drinkin’ with the guys?”

Hinata is quiet for a moment. 

“Hinata?” Atsumu asks.

Hinata hesitates for another moment. “Promise you won’t laugh?” 

Atsumu blinks. “Uh—yeah, sure. Promise.”

“I’m still kinda—new to being back in Japan,” Hinata admits. “I haven’t been back since I was of age. And I wanted the first time I went drinking to be with my old friends. I know it’s dumb—”

“It ain’t dumb,” Atsumu interrupts, as his heart swells. God, could Hinata Shouyou  _ be  _ anymore perfect? Atsumu never even stood a chance, did he? 

There’s some shuffling on the other end of the line, then the sound of a door opening and closing. Atsumu starts to make his way out of the restaurant, at the same time Hinata asks, “Who was the first person you went drinking with, Atsumu?”

“Osamu,” Atsumu replies. He nods to the hostess, making his way down the street toward a bench at a bus stop. The buses have stopped running by this time of night, so Atsumu doesn’t have to worry about unwanted company. “Kita got him some fruity liquor and then took our keys and locked us in the apartment. Told us to have fun.” 

Hinata laughs, and it—fuck, man, it sounds like an afternoon breeze in a flowering meadow. 

That has to be the gayest thing Atsumu’s ever thought.

“My first drink was with my roommate!” he chirps. “Pedro got me a  _ lot  _ of beer when I turned 20, even though I’d been legal in Brazil since I was 18 and nobody really enforced the laws over there.”

“That’s nice of him,” Atsumu says. “He cared ‘bout yer culture.”

Hinata hums. “Pedro was cool like that. When was the first time you got really, really drunk in public?” 

“In public?” Atsumu asks. His first instinct is to say  _ there’s too many to count,  _ because, really, the amount of times he’s tried and horrendously failed to drink Bokuto under the table is just pathetic. But the very first time would’ve had to have been— “I challenged Kita to a drinking competition once, cause they never drink alcohol so I figured they had the lowest fuckin’ tolerance ever.”

Hinata giggles. “I’m guessing that was a wrong?” 

Atsumu chuckles. “Yanno what they say ‘bout assumptions, Hinata.”

“Mine was when Oikawa came to visit me in Brazil,” Hinata replies. “Well, it wasn’t so much a visit as a twist of fate. Do you know Oikawa? Did you two ever meet? I think you would’ve liked each other. Or maybe you would’ve despised each other. Either way, that man can slam a beer back so fast it’ll make your head spin. I don’t know  _ how  _ we didn’t get alcohol poisoning that night.”

“Maybe ya did,” Atsumu says, turning his voice into something mock-scary, the kind of voice he’d use to tell a scary story. “Maybe ya died, ‘n this is all some twisted dream just before ya wake up in the afterlife.”

A passing civilian shoots Atsumu an odd glance. He sticks his tongue out at their retreating back.

Hinata laughs. “That’s really dark, Atsumu!”

“And yet,” Atsumu teases, “yer still laughin’, Hinata.”

“You can call me Shouyou!” Hinata chirps. “Since I call you Atsumu.”

Atsumu’s breath catches for less than a second. “Everyone calls me Atsumu. Perks of bein’ a twin—nobody can tell the fuckin’ difference between the two of ya.” 

Hinata hums thoughtfully. “I dunno. As soon as I saw you guys play for a little bit, I could tell you weren’t really all that similar.” 

Atsumu pauses. “Ya—what?”

“I don’t think I could ever play on a team with Osamu!” Hinata replies brightly. “His playing style wouldn’t work with mine! He’s not—hungry enough.” 

Atsumu snorts. “He’s plenty hungry. Just not for the kinda thing we are.”

Hinata giggles again, that melodious sound Atsumu doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of hearing. “Aw, that’s mean! You shouldn’t call your own brother fat when he isn’t even there to defend himself!” 

“Who said he’s fat?” Atsumu asks, stifling a grin. “Osamu’s so fuckin’ ripped. He has no right to be a fuckin’ dorito chip when his entire livelihood is carbs.”

Hinata snickers. Footsteps stutter to a stop in front of Atsumu’s bench, and Atsumu looks up only to see the object of his affections and the person he’s on the phone with standing in front of him, smiling in all of his sunshine-y glory. 

“Hiya,” Hinata says, clicking to hang up the call. Atsumu lowers his phone into his lap. 

“Hey,” he breathes.

Hinata tilts his head to the side, tucking his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt. “Feeling okay?” 

Atsumu nods. To be truthful, he can hardly remember the horrendous date with Haruto—all he can remember is how warm and soft and full his heart felt whenever Hinata laughed at something he’d said. 

“That’s good,” Hinata says, smiling. “I wasn’t sure if you’d still be upset.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout me,” Atsumu says, feeling like his soul is leaving his body the longer Hinata smiles at him like that, like he cares, like Atsumu isn’t the scum of the earth. “‘M tough.”

“I know,” Hinata replies. “Doesn’t mean you can’t get shaken up by someone’s unwanted advances.”

Atsumu doesn’t know what to say to that. 

Hinata’s grin widens, just barely. “C’mon,” he says. “You should come back to my place. So you don’t get too caught up in your own head. Plus, there’s some new movie musical on Netflix that looks super cheesy and super gay that I really wanna watch and I feel like you’d appreciate that.” 

Distantly, Atsumu becomes aware of the teasing tone in Hinata’s voice. “What’re ya tryin’ to say, Shouyou?” 

Hinata stiffens slightly at the use of his given name. Atsumu chooses not to read into that. “I didn’t realize we were pretending your date’s voice wasn’t clearly male,” Hinata says, still grinning.

Atsumu chuckles. “Touché.”

“It’s okay,” Hinata says. “I’m gay too. Well, I’m bi. But like—I still like dudes, so I’m not gonna like, be all homophobic and stuff. Y’know?”

Atsumu blinks, reeling from the fact that he actually— he might have a  _ chance  _ with Hinata. Well, probably not. A guy like Hinata could probably get anybody he wants, and there’s no way he’d want someone like  _ Atsumu,  _ after Atsumu treated him so terribly. “Yeah,” Atsumu blurts. “I getcha.”

Hinata beams. God, Atsumu’s so fucking gone for this man. At this point, it’s not even fair. 

-

Hinata leads Atsumu up to his apartment, holding a finger up to his lips to keep Atsumu quiet as they walk down the hallways. Once they’re in Hinata’s living room, sitting on the couch a respectable distance away from each other, Hinata grabs the remote and starts setting up his TV to play whatever Netflix movie he wants to watch. Atsumu yawns, leaning back against the plush backing of the couch and feeling sleep tugging at his eyelids, his limbs, his whole body. He’s not even sure why he’s so tired—it isn’t that late at night.

“Here,” Hinata murmurs, as the movie loads. “I have a blanket. This is the best one I have, so we’ll have to share. C'mere, come closer.” 

Atsumu scoot closer to Hinata on the couch, still leaving at least a foot of space. Hinata huffs, wrapping an arm around Atsumu’s shoulders and dragging him in close so that their sides are pressed flush up against each other. Atsumu’s brain screams red alert, his face heating up faster than the snap-light of a match flame. Even after the blanket is spread evenly across their laps, Hinata doesn’t move his arm. Atsumu becomes acutely aware of the pounding of his heart. He wonders if Hinata can feel it. 

The movie’s opening scene starts to play—the movie’s in English, but Hinata’s turned on the subtitles so that they can follow along in Japanese if they need to. Atsumu stifles a yawn with the back of his hand, slumping down a bit further on the couch. Hinata glances down at him, grinning. 

“You tired?” he teases. “All tuckered out after a hard day?” 

Atsumu huffs. “Ya’d be tired too if ya had to deal with that slimeball,” he pouts. “I feel dirty just from sittin’ with him.”

Hinata’s smile softens. “Here,” he says. “Put your head on my lap. I’ve been told my thighs make a good pillow.” 

Atsumu is too gay for this. But Hinata is looking at him expectantly, so Atsumu does as told, curling up on his side with his head resting in Hinata’s lap. Hinata’s hand settles itself atop Atsumu’s head, his fingers combing gently through Atsumu’s hair. Atsumu hums softly, his eyes already slipping shut. 

“See?” Hinata murmurs. “I told you.”

“We’re s’posed to be watchin’ the movie,” Atsumu mumbles, but his eyelids are growing too heavy for him to keep his eyes open. 

“I know,” Hinata replies. “Just means you’ll have to come back some other time.” 

“That wouldn’t be so bad,” Atsumu slurs. 

Hinata grins. “Okay,” he says. “It’s a date.”

“That’s gay, Shouyou,” Atsumu says. 

Hinata snorts. “So are you.”

Atsumu hums, scrunching up his face. “Yer right. Lemme sleep.”

Hinata just laughs, combing his fingers through Atsumu’s hair until Atsumu’s eyes fall closed and his breathing evens out. Hinata sighs softly, staring down at Atsumu’s sleeping form as the movie’s first song begins to play.

“What are you doing to me, Miya Atsumu?” Hinata asks. In his sleep, Atsumu hums and presses closer to Hinata’s stomach, his fingers curling in the folds of Hinata’s t-shirt. Hinata’s heart flips, his gut alight with a thousand butterflies. Atsumu has no right looking attractive like this, sleeping on Hinata’s lap with the low light of the TV illuminating his features, turning his bleach-blond hair silver. 

Despite himself, Hinata smiles. “I hardly see how this is fair.”

-

Atsumu wakes to the scent of cooking food and the sound of sizzling oil. Sitting up, he scrubs the sleep from his eyes and glances around, waiting for his brain to catch up to his waking body in order to remember where he is. It isn’t until he hears a faint humming floating out of the kitchen that it clicks—he’s in Hinata’s apartment, asleep on Hinata’s couch in last night’s clothes. 

The first thing Atsumu thinks is that Hinata isn’t a very good singer. The second thing he thinks is that he would like to listen to Hinata sing for the rest of his life. 

Atsumu stands, stretching his limbs and bending backwards until he hears his spine pop. He runs a hand through his hair, scratching idly at his waist as he pads into the kitchen to see what Hinata’s up to. 

Hinata is standing at the stove, singing to himself and shimmying his hips as he reaches for ingredients. Atsumu lingers in the doorway, watching Hinata work until the redhead feels his gaze and turns to look at him. He smiles at the sight of Atsumu, lifting his free hand to wave. 

“Morning!” he chirps. “Did you sleep well?”

Atsumu nods. “Yer couch is so comfy, I almost didn’t know it was a couch.”

Hinata laughs. “Yeah, it’s second-hand so it’s all broken in! Makes it more comfortable.” 

Atsumu leans against the doorframe. If Hinata’s words came out in speech bubbles, Atsumu imagines every sentence would be finished with a smiley face emoji. It’s odd—Atsumu’s never met anybody quite like Hinata. Growing up, he was surrounded by friends like Suna or Kita, and Osamu was his other half for the first 18 years of his life. Atsumu got used to seeing bored faces or blank expressions, muted smiles that are most obvious where they’re reflected in honey-colored eyes. Hinata is so open and expressive it’s almost suffocating, so willing to give away his every thought and wear all of his emotions on his sleeve that Atsumu almost doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

But Hinata isn’t—he’s not naïve. He’s not childish, not like Atsumu would describe Bokuto as. Bokuto is just dim-witted enough for him to seem a few years younger than he actually is. But Atsumu can tell—Hinata is intelligent. Intelligent, cunning, and a quick-thinker. A sly fox, just like all the people Atsumu’s been surrounded by his whole life. The only difference is that Hinata acts as though he has nothing to hide, as if he will lay his cards flat on the table because he doesn’t see the point of keeping them close to his chest. He is not a fool; he simply chooses to be happy, to be open, to be friendly. 

Atsumu might be a little in love with him. 

“Are you hungry?” Hinata asks. “I wasn’t sure if I should make a Japanese breakfast or a Brazilian one, so I made both!” 

Atsumu tilts his head to the side. 

“Well, I didn’t make  _ both _ ,” Hinata amends. “I made pieces of both, ‘cause I didn’t know what you’d like. I have rice, eggs, and a smoothie! Smoothies are really popular in Brazil. Y’know, I’d never really had smoothies like this before I moved to Brazil, and now I have one, like, every day.”

“I don’t wanna impose,” Atsumu starts, but Hinata just laughs. 

“You’re not imposing!” he replies. “I invited you, remember?”

“Right,” Atsumu says. He pauses, tapping his fingers against his thigh. 

“It’s just about done,” Hinata says. “Just waiting on the eggs. You can take a seat.” 

Atsumu does as told, sitting down at the table. He taps his fingers against the tabletop, gazing around Hinata’s kitchen. His apartment is more sparse than Atsumu would’ve pictured it; Hinata seems like the kind of person to collect every knick-knack that catches his eye. He doesn’t seem like the minimalist type. Though, Atsumu supposes he didn’t see  _ all  _ of Hinata’s apartment—it’s entirely possible the majority of Hinata’s mess is cloistered away somewhere out of sight. 

Hinata brings the food to the table, as well as a blender full of a pinkish smoothie. Hinata pours two glasses before serving the eggs and rice, saying a quick itadakimasu once he sits down. He starts first on the rice, so Atsumu follows suit. He isn’t normally this awkward, but Atsumu doesn’t entirely know how to act around Hinata. Why is he being so nice? Is this the same guy who Atsumu told to get the fuck off of his team not even two weeks ago? 

Atsumu takes a sip of his smoothie. Immediately, a burning itch starts on his tongue, spreading to the roof of his mouth and the back of his throat. Atsumu winces. 

“Uh—what’s in the smoothie?” 

“Strawberries!” Hinata chirps. Atsumu squints. “And bananas, of course.”

There it is. Atsumu clears his throat again, shifting slightly. Is now the right time to tell Hinata that Atsumu is severely allergic to bananas? Or is that a conversation for when the meal’s finished? Is he even going to make it to the end of the meal? But Hinata put so much effort into making Atsumu breakfast—would it be rude to die before the meal is over? 

Hinata blinks. “Why do you ask?” 

Atsumu forces a grin, choking down another sip of the smoothie. “Just curious,” he says, hoping the raspiness of his voice isn’t too noticeable. If he’s going to die, he might as well die eating Hinata’s food, with Hinata smiling at him. “‘S really good.”

Hinata beams. “I know, right? Pedro used to make this one all the time—it’s my favorite!”

Oof. Atsumu can’t say anything  _ now,  _ can he? Not when Hinata’s sharing his favorite smoothie with him. 

A voice in the back of his head informs Atsumu that he’s an idiot and a hopeless romantic. A disaster gay. The voice sounds too much like Osamu for Atsumu to pay any attention to it.

Hinata takes a big gulp of his smoothie, furrowing his eyebrows and shooting Atsumu a slightly concerned glance. “Are you okay, Atsumu? You look—sick.” 

Atsumu wheezes. “‘M fine,” he rasps. “I’m just goin’ into anaphylactic shock. No biggie.”

Hinata’s eyes widen comically. He shoots to his feet, running around to Atsumu’s side of the table. He braces a hand on Atsumu’s chest, the other on his upper back. “What? Are you okay? Isn’t that an allergic reaction? Don’t you need an EpiPen for one of those?”

Atsumu nods, gesturing vaguely toward the living room. “Jacket—pocket.”

Hinata disappears into the living room, moving faster than Atsumu can blink. Atsumu slumps forward slightly. His teeth itch. 

Hinata returns a moment later, brandishing Atsumu’s EpiPen in one hand and his jacket in the other. Atsumu takes the pen from Hinata, yanking it free from its casing with slightly-trembling hands. Once he’s gotten the blue safety cap off, he throws the cap carelessly onto the table and shoves Hinata out of the danger-zone, swinging his arm back before jamming the pen into his thigh. 

Atsumu waits the customary three seconds, then removes it, tossing the pen onto the table once he’s certain the epinephrine dosage actually administered. The kitchen is silent apart from his own labored breaths, Hinata not moving from where he’d been shoved several steps away in Atsumu’s attempt to save his own life. 

Finally, once Atsumu’s breathing isn’t quite so haggard, Hinata asks, “What was it?”

“Bananas,” Atsumu says.

“Ah,” Hinata replies. They lapse into tense, awkward silence. Atsumu almost wishes he’d suffocated and died a few minutes ago so that he wouldn’t have to live through this. “Should I—should somebody call a doctor?”

Logically, yes. Atsumu knows he’s supposed to see a doctor or go to the emergency room after an allergic reaction. But Atsumu doesn’t make smart decisions.

“Call ‘Samu,” he mumbles. “No way in hell I’m walkin’ home after that.”

Hinata flounders. “I don’t—I don’t have his number.”

Atsumu pulls out his phone, holding it out for Hinata to take as he pitches forward to rest his forehead against the cool surface of the tabletop. “‘Samu’s the emergency contact.”

Hinata taps the screen a few times before lifting the phone to his ear. Atsumu thinks he hears the distant sound of the dial tone for a few seconds, before a gruff mumble picks up the phone. Hinata stiffens slightly. “Um—hi! This is Hinata. Hinata Shouyou. Um—I’m on Atsumu’s volleyball team?” 

Osamu mumbles something on the other end of the line. 

“Er, yeah, we were hanging out and he kind of had an allergic reaction?” Hinata continues. “I think he’s gonna need an EpiPen refill. However that works. Huh? Oh, yeah—he told me to call you. Said he didn’t wanna walk home.”

More mumbling, this time leaning more toward grumbling.

Hinata laughs, nervous and high pitched. “He’s kind of a blob on my kitchen table right now. You wanna talk to him? Uh—Atsumu, your brother wants to talk to you.”

Atsumu lets out a prolonged groan and shakes his head. 

Hinata swallows. “He doesn’t seem up for talking right now.”

Louder grumbling. Probably a swear or two, knowing Osamu’s dirty mouth. 

“Oh, my address? Sure!” Hinata rattles off a series of numbers and street names Atsumu is too tired to pay attention to. After a little bit more back-and-forth, the redhead hangs up the phone and sets it down on the table. He sits down in the chair adjacent Atsumu’s, reaching out to rub Atsumu’s back. Atsumu later vehemently denies leaning into Hinata’s touch (but it still happens).

Hinata frowns. “Sorry I made you go into ananpillactick—anabilatic—”

“Anaphylactic shock,” Atsumu supplies.

“That,” Hinata agrees. “Sorry I caused it. I probably should’ve made sure you didn’t have any allergies.”

“‘S my own fault,” Atsumu mumbles. “Didn’t wanna upset ya so I didn’t ask ‘fore I started eatin’. ‘Samu’s gonna kill me for this.”

“He might give you a pass,” Hinata says, tracing soft circles into Atsumu’s shoulder blades. Atsumu hums. “For almost dying. Near-death experience pass.”

Atsumu snorts. 

Hinata smiles. “We really gotta try this some other time,” he says. “When you’re not coming off a horrible date and I’m not trying to feed you poison.”

“I dunno,” Atsumu says. “I didn’t think it was that bad.”

Hinata’s smile softens. He looks like he wants to say more, but is cut off by the sound of a knock on his door.

“That’s probably Osamu,” he says, taking his hand off of Atsumu’s back. Atsumu mourns the small spot of warmth it provided. Hinata pauses, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Can you stand?”

“I can,” Atsumu mutters. “Just don’t wanna.”

Hinata snorts. “Okay. I’m gonna get the door. Stand if you find it in yourself.” 

His footsteps depart. Atsumu drags himself to sit up, listening to the sound of the door opening, followed by Osamu’s gruff voice greeting Hinata. Hinata chirps out a response, then two sets of footsteps approach the chair Atsumu’s decided to become one with. 

“Dumbass,” Osamu grunts. “‘M here to get ya outta Hinata’s hair.”

Atsumu lifts his arms toward Osamu like a child would make grabby hands at a parent. Osamu scoffs and rolls his eyes, but bends down to heave Atsumu out of the chair, allowing the false blond to lean heavily into him. He wraps an arm around Atsumu’s waist to steady him, then turns to say something to Hinata.

“Alright,” Osamu huffs. “Say goodbye to Hinata, you stupid sack of meat.”

“Bye-bye Shouyou,” Atsumu mumbles, his head lolling onto Osamu’s shoulder. 

Hinata hums, waving. “Bye-bye, Atsumu. I’ll try not to kill you next time we meet.”

Atsumu giggles, poking Osamu’s side repeatedly as his brother lugs him out of the apartment. “Didya hear that?” he asks. “Shouyou’s so funny.”

“Oh my god,” Osamu mutters. “Why d’ya sound fuckin’  _ drunk?”  _

Atsumu just grins. 

Much of the journey from Hinata’s apartment to the one Osamu shares with Kita passes in an exhausted haze Atsumu couldn’t recall if you held him at gunpoint. The next thing he remembers, he’s being dropped onto Osamu’s couch, sagging over the armrest, while Kita pads into the room with a mug of tea in one hand and a cup of yogurt in the other. At their feet, the yellow lab the two of them adopted trots happily along, nosing Kita’s leg every once in a while. 

“Ah, no, Peanut, ya can’t sniff me when I’m walkin’,” Kita murmurs. Peanut snorts and shakes her head before wandering over to where Osamu is standing next to the couch. She sticks her nose into his hand, prompting a chuckle from him. 

“Bold puppy,” he teases, scratching behind her ears. Peanut flops onto her side at his feet, requesting belly rubs that Osamu happily obliges. “Bold Peanut.”

Kita kneels down in front of Atsumu, setting the tea and yogurt on the coffee table. “How are ya feelin’?”

Atsumu hums. “Sleepy.” 

Kita nods. “I can imagine. Ya gotta eat first, though.”

Atsumu whines. 

“Don’t be a big baby,” Osamu drawls. “If yer gonna make me worry ‘bout ya, ya gotta deal with Kita’s mother-henning.”

Kita glances at Osamu. Osamu averts his eyes and resumes petting Peanut, whistling quietly. Kita rolls their eyes, an amused glint in their eyes. 

“C’mon, Atsumu,” Kita prompts. “It’s key lime; yer favorite.”

Atsumu sniffs. “I can’t believe ya remember my favorite yogurt flavor. Kita, yer too good for ‘Samu. Too good ‘n nice.”

Kita hums. “Yes, I know,” they say. “Will ya take the yogurt, please?”

Atsumu does as told, taking the cup of yogurt—Kita already opened it, it seems—and the plastic spoon Kita offers him. He scoops out a bite, popping it into his mouth at the same time Osamu nudges Kita’s shoulder. 

“Too good for me, eh?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Kita grins. 

Osamu chuckles. “Yeah, yer prob’ly right.”

“Probably,” Atsumu echoes, his eyes focused on the yogurt in his hands. Osamu moves as if to hit him, but Kita grabs his wrist and keeps him from assaulting Atsumu. 

“How was yer date?” Kita asks. “That was last night, right?”

Atsumu groans loudly and theatrically. “It was  _ horrible!”  _ he cries. “He kept tryin’ to come onto me ‘n feel me up ‘n he was so slimy, Kita, I hated it!”

Kita nods sympathetically. 

“I tried callin’ ‘Samu to rescue me,” Atsumu continues, “but he just told me he was busy ‘n hung up on me without even hearin’ what I had to say! I coulda been in real danger!”

“How dare he,” Kita says, but they don't sound nearly as scandalized as Atsumu feels is necessary for the gravity of the situation. They shoot Osamu an amused glance, as he focuses his attention on massaging Peanut’s ears. 

“I know, right?” Atsumu agrees. “Anyway—I had to call Shouyou, ‘cause all the other guys on the team were either drinkin’ or drunk or maybe dead. I dunno, drinking with Bokkun’s never a good idea. But anyway, I called Shouyou and it turns out he’s actually kinda nice ‘n funny ‘n he took me to his apartment ‘n I fell asleep in his lap and when I woke up he made me breakfast.”

“Which included bananas, but because yer too fuckin’ gay to function, ya didn’t bother askin’ Hinata ‘bout the ingredients ‘fore ya started eatin’,” Osamu finishes. “‘N then ya almost fuckin’  _ died.” _

Atsumu waves a hand. “Ya make it sound worse than it is.”

“Atsumu, yogurt,” Kita reminds, tapping the bottom of Atsumu’s yogurt cup. Atsumu takes another bite. 

“Ya gonna go on another Tinder date?” Osamu asks, as Peanut gets up and meanders over to Kita, clambering up into their lap. Kita sucks in a sharp breath, wincing at her weight. Kita’s not weak by any means—they make a living hauling rice, after all—but Peanut’s a big dog and they don’t have the most muscular frame, not since they quit volleyball. Osamu bends down and scoops Peanut in his arms, carrying her over to the armchair on the other side of the room. 

Atsumu squints at him, watching the muscles shift beneath Osamu’s t-shirt, before he declares, “I miss the days when ya were still the chubby twin.”

Both Osamu and Kita turn to look at him, Osamu’s gaze annoyed and Kita’s amused.

“Ya don’t have any right bein’ this buff,” Atsumu huffs, pouting. “Yer livelihood is  _ carbs.  _ ‘Samu go back to bein’ chubby challenge.”

Kita grins. “Don’t worry,” they say. “He still is.”

“Kita,” Atsumu whines. “I don’t wanna hear ‘bout that!”

Kita blinks. “What? I meant his stomach. He doesn’t have any abs.”

“Rude,” Osamu mutters. Kita smiles at him, patting the space on the couch next to them. Osamu gladly comes to sit next to Kita, curling an arm around their shoulders and pressing a chaste kiss to their temple. Kita hums. 

“I like yer squishy parts,” they say. “Makes ya better for cuddlin’.” 

“Then I like ‘em too,” Osamu replies. Kita’s smile softens. 

Atsumu gags. “How come yer both so gross all the time? It’s makin’ my eyes bleed.”

Osamu reaches around Kita to smack Atsumu upside the head. “Ain'tcha got a nap to be takin’, anyway? Leave me ‘n my fiancé alone.” 

Atsumu sticks his tongue out, at the same time Kita extricates themself from Osamu’s grasp and stands. “C’mon, Atsumu,” they say. “I’ll get the guest room made up for ya.”

Peanut follows Kita and Atsumu down the hallway into the guest room, where she hops up to curl up next to Atsumu’s legs once he’s flopped down on the mattress. Kita makes sure Atsumu’s comfortable before they flick the lights off, padding toward the door. 

“Keep him company for me, will ya, Peanut?” they say. “Sleep well, Atsumu.” 

Atsumu’s asleep before he even hears the door click shut.

-

“So here’s the problem,” Atsumu says, as soon as Sakusa swings open the door. Sakusa scowls and starts to slam the door, at which point Atsumu holds out Sakusa’s order from his favorite fast food restaurant that he never goes to because he’s probably a bit of an agoraphobe in addition to a germaphobe, which makes it the perfect bribe to get him to listen to Atsumu’s issues.

Sakusa regards the bag with a dubious glare, before he snatches it from Atsumu’s hands and steps back to open the door fully. Atsumu comes inside and removes his shoes, following Sakusa into his kitchen. Sakusa sits at one end of the table, Atsumu at the other, and Sakusa carefully unwraps his meal before he says, “Continue.” 

Atsumu whines. “I almost died, Omi-Omi!” 

Food half-raised to his mouth, Sakusa quirks an eyebrow. “Elaborate.”

Atsumu whines again, and if he were at anyone other than Sakusa’s table, he might have pitched forward and slammed his forehead against the tabletop. Sakusa hates it when he does that, though, so Atsumu just slumps down in his chair and buries his face in his hands. 

“‘M allergic to bananas, right?” Atsumu says, his voice muffled by his hands. 

“Right,” Sakusa says slowly.

“I went on that date the other night,” Atsumu continues, “‘n it was horrible; the guy was a freak who just wanted in my pants, ‘n I was very uncomfy.”

“Uncomfy,” Sakusa echoes.

Atsumu ignores him. “So I had to call Shouyou to come ‘n rescue me ‘cause ‘Samu’s a heartless bastard, ‘n then Shouyou took me to his house ‘n I fell asleep on him ‘n in the mornin’ he made me breakfast but there were bananas in the smoothie but I like him so much I forgot to tell him so I drank it and almost died.”

Sakusa chews a bite of food agonizingly slowly, swallows even slower, clears his throat, and declares, “You are the stupidest person I have ever met in my entire life.”

Atsumu wants to be offended but, honestly? That’s fair.

“This is not the problem,” Sakusa states. “Tell me the rest.”

“It’s actually multiple problems,” Atsumu says, his voice high and petulant. “First: I am probably in love with Hinata Shouyou.”

“Probably,” Sakusa deadpans. “Because people almost die for people they’re only  _ probably  _ in love with.”

Atsumu whines. “I don’t wanna go on another Tinder date, Omi! I’ve been traumatized!”

“It couldn’t have been that bad,” Sakusa says. 

Atsumu huffs, “He tried to stick his foot up my pant leg.”

“Alright,” Sakusa concedes. “So, it  _ was  _ that bad. That’s not saying they’re all going to be that bad.” 

“But what if they  _ are?”  _ Atsumu presses. 

Sakusa shrugs. 

Atsumu whines and covers his face with his hands again. 

Sakusa takes another bite of his meal, humming. “Y’know, you could just  _ ask  _ Hinata out. I’m sure he’d say yes—he’s got bad taste and definitely likes you.” 

“He does not like me,” Atsumu argues.

“He rescued you from your bad date,” Sakusa points out.

“Anyone decent woulda done that,” Atsumu refutes. 

Sakusa raises an eyebrow. “He took you back to his apartment afterward.”

“Friends do that,” Atsumu says. 

Sakusa levels him with a wholly unimpressed glare. “He made you breakfast.”

Atsumu doesn’t have a dismissal for that. 

“That’s what I thought,” Sakusa huffs, turning his attention back to his food. 

“I can’t ask Shouyou to be my date to the weddin’,” Atsumu says after a few moments pass in silence. 

Sakusa says. “I’m probably going to regret asking, but—why?”

“‘Samu ‘n Kita already know I’m fuckin’ gone for him! They’d never believe I had the guts to ask him out,” Atsumu whines. 

“Right,” Sakusa says, “but they already know you’re gone for him, which means they would buy you being happier with him than some random person you met on Tinder.”

Atsumu straightens up. “Omi-Omi, ya might onto somethin’.” 

Sakusa rolls his eyes and goes back to eating his food. 

“But how can I ask him out?” Atsumu moans. “I’ve already made such a fool of myself in front of him!”

“Which means the asking-out can go as horribly as possible,” Sakusa says, “and he’ll probably still say yes, seeing as he’s seen you at your literal worst mid-anaphylactic shock.”

“Omi, when’d ya get to be so smart?” Atsumu asks.

Sakusa rolls his eyes again. “You pick up some things when the world’s stupidest man routinely comes to you for advice.”

Atsumu tilts his head to the side. “Things like what?”

“What not to do under any circumstances,” Sakusa deadpans.

Atsumu pouts. “Omi-Omi mean.”

“It’s what you deserve,” Sakusa retorts. “Are we done now? Can I eat in peace?”

Atsumu squints. “Are ya kickin’ me out?” 

Sakusa doesn’t say anything for a moment. “Not necessarily.”

Atsumu hums, a gleeful smile spreading across his face. “Aw. Omi-Omi  _ does  _ love me.”

“I take it back,” Sakusa says. “Leave immediately.”

“No, I’m stayin’,” Atsumu huffs. “I’ll be quiet. Promise.”

“Quiet isn’t in your vocabulary,” Sakusa drawls. “But fine. I’m not giving you anymore advice, though. You’ll have to bribe me some other day if you find yourself in a world-altering conflict again.”

“My whole life is a world-altering conflict,” Atsumu mumbles. 

Sakusa nods. “I also agree that your existence is a problem on a global scale.” 

Atsumu huffs, but doesn’t say anything. Sakusa goes back to eating, and the two of them sit in silence, Atsumu all the while thinking about what Sakusa told him to do. Could he really just ask Hinata out on a date? Would Hinata really just say yes? Even after the fiasco at breakfast?

Sakusa seems convinced, but Atsumu isn’t so sure. 

-

They’re playing two-on-two matches the next morning at practice. Atsumu discreetly crosses his fingers at his side, at the same time Sakusa meets his eyes and raises an eyebrow. They both know who Atsumu hopes to get paired up with—it’s just a matter of whether or not the coach’s mercy is on Atsumu’s side that day. he watches as the coach taps his chin, his free hand resting on his hip. 

“Sakusa, you’re with Meian. You two will be playing against,” he pauses, his eyes scanning the line up of MSBY players. “Miya and Hinata.” 

Atsumu’s heart swells, his stomach fluttering with butterfly wingbeats as strong as an eagles. Hinata leans forward slightly, grinning and waving to Atsumu. Atsumu waves back, probably smiling like a dope. The four of them make their way over to the court, Atsumu snagging a volleyball from the cart as they go. The rest of the team is supposed to watch them play, observe their strengths and their weaknesses and learn from them. Atsumu pays the spectators no mind as he and Hinata get situated on the court, smirking at Sakusa on the other side of the net. 

“Hey, before I forget,” Hinata starts, shaking out his limbs while they wait for the coach to blow the whistle to start the match. “I wanna talk to you after practice.” 

Atsumu’s gut churns. “Uh—sure thing. I’ll try ‘n stick around.”

Hinata sends him a bright smile, but it does little to settle Atsumu’s sudden nerves. He wonders what Hinata could want, what he could possibly have to tell Atsumu. Does he hate Atsumu? Does he want Atsumu to reimburse him for the money he wasted on a breakfast Atsumu ended up having an allergic reaction from? Is he going to tell Atsumu that he actually  _ does  _ hate him, and he wants Atsumu to leave him alone for the rest of forever?

Atsumu doesn’t often get sick, or even get pre-game jitters. But as the coach blows the whistle to start the practice match, Atsumu’s stomach flips and he’s momentarily glad he’d eaten a light breakfast that morning, or else he might’ve chucked it right then and there. He swallows thickly, praying for his stomach to settle, and serves the ball. 

The back of Hinata’s head has never looked so menacing.

-

Practice ends early. The team trudges into the locker room, worn out from back to back practice matches. Atsumu’s almost forgotten Hinata’s comment from earlier, but he abruptly remembers when Hinata begins to approach his locker. Hinata has already showered and changed into his normal attire, his gym bag dangling from his fingertips at his side. He’s using his free hand to muss his wet hair, trying to fluff it so it doesn’t dry matted. Atsumu takes a moment to wonder how Hinata managed to shower so quickly—Atsumu hasn’t even finished grabbing his normal clothes from his locker. 

He’s drawn out of his thoughts by the sound of Hinata chirping, “Hiya!” 

“Hey,” Atsumu says, his voice stiff. He clears his throat. 

Hinata doesn’t question Atsumu’s weirdness, just smiles a little brighter. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay! I haven’t heard from you since you almost died at my kitchen table.”

Atsumu’s face burns. He turns toward his locker, pretending to busy himself rifling through his bag. “Right. Yeah. I’m good. ‘S not the first time that’s happened, ‘n it prob’ly won’t be the last.”

Hinata laughs. “At least try not to die, okay?”

“No promises,” Atsumu says. 

Hinata giggles. “Anyway, that’s not all I wanted to talk to you about.”

Atsumu’s anxiety returns so suddenly, he nearly keels over. He blinks black spots out of his vision, white-knuckling the edge of his locker to keep himself standing. “Oh?”

“I actually wanted to ask you something,” Hinata says, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. He bounces slightly, his empty hand stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie. 

“Shoot,” Atsumu drawls, hoping his voice isn’t shaking.

Hinata hesitates for a brief second, before he blurts, “Will you go on a date with me?” 

Atsumu’s brain short circuits. His eyes dart to the people standing nearby, but Bokuto is very obviously not listening and Meian has apparently abandoned his locker to talk to Inunaki on the other side of the room. Hinata stares up at Atsumu, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. 

Atsumu opens his mouth. Hinata leans in. Atsumu closes his mouth. Hinata drops back on his heels. Atsumu opens it again, Hinata leans in again, and they repeat the cycle several more times before Atsumu finally says, “You want me. To go on a date with you.” He gestures between the two of them for emphasis. 

Hinata nods.

“Like, a real date,” Atsumu says. “A romantic one. Like—boyfriends.”

Hinata nods again. “Yes.”

“Me,” Atsumu repeats. “And  _ you.”  _

“You can say no,” Hinata starts, some of the light dying from his eyes. 

“Fuck you,” Atsumu says immediately. “Of course I wanna go on a date with ya.”

Hinata brightens immediately. “Really?” 

Atsumu nods.

Hinata lurches forward, throwing his arms around Atsumu’s neck without care for how sweaty Atsumu definitely still is, and how he’s definitely going to stink up Hinata’s fresh clothes. “Great!” he chirps. “I’ll text you the details! Are you free on Friday?”

“Uh—yeah,” Atsumu stammers. 

Hinata pulls back, grinning brighter than the fucking sun and all of the stars combined. “Awesome,” he exclaims. “Gah—I can’t wait! See you soon, Atsumu!” 

Atsumu lifts a hand to wave as Hinata practically bounces out of the locker room, a spring in his step all the way to the door and then some. 

“I told you he liked you,” Sakusa mumbles, standing at the end of the aisle of lockers where Atsumu’s feet are rooted to the floor, his eyes stuck on the place Hinata had just been. “Even though I can’t fathom why he would.” 

“Holy shit,” Atsumu breathes. The places where Hinata had touched him tingle, alive with heat. 

-

Hinata shows up at five o’clock on the dot—the agreed upon time—to pick Atsumu up for their date. He smiles brightly when Atsumu pulls the door open, his cheeks flushed slightly. 

“Hi-hi!” he chirps. “Are you ready for our date?”

Atsumu takes a moment to take in Hinata’s appearance. He dressed casual, as he’d instructed Atsumu to, just a pair of light wash jeans, a t-shirt, and a color block windbreaker that's just short of being neon. The bright colors and relaxed fit of his clothes suit his personality well, as do the bright yellow sneakers Atsumu notices him wearing. In his right hand, he holds a to-go cup with some sort of smoothie in it. In his left, he holds a single, yellow flower; Atsumu isn’t sure what kind it was, but it has seemingly a million layers of petals. 

Hinata first presents the flower to Atsumu. “This is for you!” 

Atsumu reaches up to take the flower, smiling softly. He can feel his cheeks heating up. “Ah—thanks. I can put this in water if ya wanna come in for a moment.”

Hinata nods and follows Atsumu into the apartment, lingering in the doorway as Atsumu makes his way to the kitchen to fill a glass of water and drop the flower into it. Once Atsumu returns, he grabs his shoes and joins Hinata in the entryway, tugging on his jacket. It isn’t that cold, but the jacket completes the ensemble and Atsumu is fine suffering through overheat in the name of fashion. 

Hinata holds out the to-go cup for Atsumu. “A smoothie,” he explains. “No banana.”

Atsumu’s brain short circuits. Hinata is too good for him, he decides. 

“I even scrubbed the blender before I made it, ‘cause I didn’t wanna risk contamination,” Hinata informs him, linking elbows with Atsumu as Atsumu stares down at the smoothie in his hand, bewildered. 

“Ya didn’t hafta do all this,” Atsumu finally says, feeling like his heart is going to beat its way right out of his chest. He wonders if Hinata can hear it pounding. Together, the two of them make their way to the door and leave the apartment, Hinata leading the way. 

“I know!” Hinata replies. “But I wanted to.”

This man’s smile is going to kill him, Atsumu decides. He averts his eyes, glancing down at the smoothie again. He’s a little apprehensive, after the fiasco of the last time he drank one of Hinata’s smoothies, but also—Hinata took steps to make sure it would be safe for Atsumu. Atsumu takes a deep breath, steeling his nerves, and takes a sip of the smoothie. It tastes sweet, but not overly so—like strawberries, Atsumu thinks. This time, instead of a familiar burning itch on his tongue and in the back of his throat, it just feels cool and refreshing all the way down his throat. Atsumu hums, making a pleased noise. 

“D’you like it?” Hinata asks, searching Atsumu’s face for a reaction. 

Atsumu nods, grinning. “‘S really good. Thanks.”

“Yeah!” Hinata chirps. “I’m glad you like it! I didn’t want you to have bad smoothie memories forever; that’d be too sad.”

Atsumu smiles softly. Hinata’s troubled expression at the thought of Atsumu having ‘bad smoothie memories’ is so endearing, he thinks he might die. “Where’re we goin’, anyway?” 

Hinata brightens. “You’ll see! It’s a surprise!” 

“A surprise,” Atsumu echoes. 

Hinata nods. “Yep, yep! A surprise!”

“‘M not big on surprises,” Atsumu says, which isn’t a total lie, but it’s mostly just him trying to get Hinata to fess up. Hinata is stubborn, though, miming a zipper motion across his face as he reaches down to take Atsumu’s free hand and intertwine their fingers. 

“Is this okay?” he asks.

Atsumu stares down at him, at all of his soft edges and the light in his eyes and the glow of his smile and  _ God,  _ he loves this man so  _ fucking  _ much. “Yeah,” he breathes. “This is great.” 

Hinata beams. The two of them lapse into comfortable silence as they walk, and Atsumu revels in it. All his life, he’s pushed an image of someone larger than life, someone loud and all-encompassing, and he’s sure it’s partially due to how quiet Osamu is, but here, walking next to Hinata as the sun slowly sets and tinges the sky in shades of orange and magenta, there is no need for that persona. There is no reason for over-the-top, no reason for loud, no reason for anything other than Atsumu and Hinata and their interlocked hands. 

Eventually, Hinata brings the two of them to a stop outside a store in a shopping district Atsumu doesn’t immediately recognize. Atsumu glances up at the shop’s sign, frowning. 

“Ya brought us to a toy store?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. 

“Not just any toy store!” Hinata replies. “You get to make your own toy here.”

Atsumu stares. 

“I know, I know, it’s cheesy, but I thought it’d be fun,” Hinata explains. “I thought we could try to make something for each other. We don’t have to do it if you think it’s dumb.”

“I think it’s awesome,” Atsumu says immediately. “‘M gonna make ya the best stuffed animal ya’ve ever seen in yer goddamn life.”

Hinata grins, the tip of his tongue poking out. “Mine’s gonna be better!”

Atsumu smirks. “Wanna bet?” 

“Bet!” Hinata replies. “Okay, so, I was thinking we could split up once we get in there so that it’s a surprise at the end. We can meet up afterward and maybe get dinner?”

Atsumu smiles. “Sounds good. I’m gonna knock yer socks off.”

“I’m gonna put your socks back on!” Hinata retorts. Both of them blink, before they dissolve into laughter. Hinata huffs, smiling good-naturedly. “You get my point.”

Hinata releases Atsumu’s hand, plunging forward into the store. Atsumu momentarily misses Hinata’s warmth, before he tosses the empty smoothie cup in a nearby trash can and follows his date inside the store. Inside, Atsumu spots a few children with harried parents picking out a plushie and an outfit to go with it, but the store itself is largely empty. Hinata is already browsing the selection of plushies, a hand on his chin as he examines them. Atsumu turns away to pick out a plush for Hinata, wondering what the shorter male would like best. 

The store has a lot of options, all of which are good. A moose, a dinosaur, a bear, even a leopard. But it isn’t until Atsumu spots a floppy-looking orange dragon that he feels he’s found the perfect plush for Hinata. He grabs the dragon, taking it over to the stuffing station. Hinata is already at the register, though Atsumu can’t quite see what it is he’s picked out. 

The employee at the stuffing station shoots Atsumu an amused glance when he hands her the dragon, her eyes darting once over to the spot where Hinata is finishing up his transaction. 

“The two of you together?” she asks. Atsumu nods stiffly, his cheeks heating up. She laughs slightly. “Would he want his plushie softer or firmer?” 

Atsumu blanks. He glances at Hinata. “Uh.”

The employee smiles. “Think about it this way. Would he want it more sturdy, able to sit up on its own, or would he want it better for hugging?”

“Hugging,” Atsumu blurts, even though he really doesn’t know. The one on display had seemed floppy, almost limp, and that had been part of the little dragon’s charm. He thinks Hinata would find its floppiness funny. The employee nods and begins stuffing the dragon, handing it to Atsumu to test the firmness before she reaches into a container at her side and produces a small, silk heart. She hands it to Atsumu, grabbing one for herself. 

“This is the fun part,” she tells him. “First, rub the heart between your palms to make sure the dragon’s nice and warm.” 

Atsumu does as told, only feeling like a little bit of an idiot. The knowledge that Hinata had to do this too makes him feel a little bit better. 

The employee grins. “Okay, now rub it against your forehead to make sure the dragon’s nice and smart.” 

Atsumu is very glad there aren’t a lot of people in the store to witness this. 

“Finally,” the employee pauses visibly thinking, “give it a big hug. So that your dragon always knows how much you love it.” Her eyes dart over to Hinata, her body shielding the dragon from view as Hinata walks by toward the exit of the store. Atsumu’s face lights aflame with heat, watching Hinata walk away. “Go on,” she encourages. “This is the most important part.”

Atsumu lifts the heart to his chest and holds it close. He knows it’s just some silly routine that the employee does with every plushie she stuffs, he knows it’s not real and it doesn’t matter, but still he can’t help but pour all the love he has for Hinata into that stupid, silk heart. 

“Okay,” the employee says. “That’s good. I don’t think he’ll ever forget it, now.” 

Atsumu hands the heart back to her and watches her bury it in the dragon’s stuffing before she stitches up the little plushie and presents it to him. Atsumu takes it, holding it in the crook of his elbow as he leaves to go pay for it. By the time he joins Hinata outside the store, the sky is stained indigo, the sun almost completely disappeared beneath the horizon. Hinata looks ethereal, painted in shades of purple and blue. The sight of him almost makes Atsumu choke on his breath, but he regains his composure in time for Hinata to look up and shoot him a smile. 

“Ready to switch?” he asks. Atsumu nods. Hinata hands Atsumu his bag, taking Atsumu’s in exchange. Atsumu grins at him, watching as Hinata pulls the floppy orange dragon out of the bag and beams. “Aw, he’s so floppy! I love him!”

“I knew ya would,” Atsumu preens. Hinata hugs the dragon close to his chest, beaming up at Atsumu. 

“Okay, go on. Open yours,” he encourages. Atsumu reaches into the bag, momentarily apprehensive, and pulls out a white unicorn with a neck that seems a bit too long for its body. He snorts, running his thumb along its soft plush snout. 

“Aw,” he says. “He’s disproportionate.”

Hinata snickers. 

“Good choice,” Atsumu praises. “But I still think I won.”

Hinata grins. “Let’s call it a draw.” 

“How’d ya even come up with a date idea like this one?” Atsumu asks, tucking the unicorn under his arm. It’s nice to hug, he must admit. And he’s always had a thing for the stuffed animals that look just a little bit wrong—how Hinata could tell that, he’ll never know.

Hinata shrugs, fiddling with the dragon’s legs. “Dunno. I didn’t wanna do something, y’know,  _ typical.  _ I wanted to do something fun.”

Atsumu holds out his hand. Hinata happily takes it, swinging their arms in tandem with their footsteps. “Well, ya accomplished that. Where d’ya wanna eat?”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Hinata replies. “Anywhere’s fine, as long as I’m with you.” 

Atsumu blinks, his face flushing. He hip-checks Hinata, making the shorter man stumble to the side slightly. “Ya can’t just go ‘n say somethin’ like that,” he whines. “‘S embarrassin’!”

“Too bad,” Hinata quips, sticking out his tongue. Atsumu huffs, but he can’t repress the smile even if he wanted to. He tips his head back to the sky, wondering when the last time he felt this  _ happy  _ was. He might just win this bet after all, at the rate he’s going. 

“Take out?” Hinata suggests.

Atsumu squeezes his hand. “Sure,” he murmurs. “Anywhere’s fine, long as I’m with you.”

Hinata beams. Atsumu doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of seeing that smile. 

-

Osamu isn’t around when Atsumu arrives at the Kita-Miya apartment to help Kita plan some of the details for the wedding. Kita pulls the door open with a smile, gesturing for Atsumu to come inside. 

“Hello,” they greet, leading Atsumu to the kitchen table. Atsumu takes his seat next to them, as they pull a binder closer to themself and flip it open. “I was thinkin’ ya could help me with the flowers.”

“I don’t know anythin’ ‘bout flowers,” Atsumu says, frowning. 

Kita smiles softly. “Maybe. But I imagine ya still know more than Osamu, who thought dandelions were flowers until a week ago.”

Atsumu blinks. “They aren’t?” 

Kita stares. After a few moments, they sigh, and say, “At the very least, ya can help me pick a color arrangement.” Atsumu thinks he hears them mutter, “Hopeless, the both of ya.”

Atsumu chooses not to comment. Kita rifles through their binder for a few moments, as Peanut the yellow lab pads into the room, her nails clicking against the floor. Kita scratches her back as she walks by, approaching Atsumu. Atsumu grins at the sight of her, patting his lap invitingly. “Heya, friend,” he murmurs, as she jumps up to sit on his lap. He scratches behind her ears and beneath her chin, watching her tail wag like mad.

“Can I ask ya somethin’?” Atsumu starts, as Peanut moves to lay down at his feet. Kita glances up from the binder. “How come yer doin’ all this?”

Kita furrows their brow. “Whaddya mean?”

Atsumu gestures to the binder. “The whole weddin’. ‘S not like it’ll be legally recognized. Why bother with the trouble?”

Kita shrugs, turning their gaze back to the page in front of them. They smooth their finger over the edge of the paper, their eyes trained on a photo of a bouquet of flowers. “It ain’t about whether or not the government recognizes us.”

Atsumu furrows his brow. “Then what’s it about?”

Kita hums. “Me ‘n Osamu. The love we share.” They look up suddenly, their smile soft but their eyes imploring. “I don’t need a legal officiant. I don’t need a paper that tells me we’re married. I don’t need any of it. I just wanna dance with him. I want to show all of our friends ‘n family how much I love him. I want to  _ celebrate  _ that. ‘S that so bad?”

Atsumu thinks about the bet he’s made with Osamu, and suddenly he feels guilty. Kita doesn’t want much. They never have; Kita’s always been the simple type, the type to be satisfied with the smallest things. They’re finally doing something big, something that they want, and Atsumu’s a selfish bastard trying to make it all about him. Not to mention—

Isn’t he taking advantage of Hinata? He’s so fucking in love with Hinata, but using him just to win some stupid bet with Osamu feels unfair to the other man. Hinata has no ulterior motive; Hinata just wants to go on dates with him and make him smoothies and hold his hand, the same way Kita just wants to love Osamu and dance with him at their wedding. What kind of monster is Atsumu that he’s trying take away Kita’s moment  _ and  _ take advantage of Hinata’s love in the process?

“No,” Atsumu finally says. “That’s not bad at all.”

Kita smiles softly. “You’ll find someone soon, Atsumu,” they say. “Osamu and I just got lucky and met in high school. But ya’ve got yer whole life ahead of ya. Ya don’t gotta find yer soulmate just ‘cause Osamu already has.”

Atsumu laughs humorlessly. “How d’ya always do that?” he asks. 

“Do what?” Kita asks. 

Atsumu gestures vaguely. “Ya just—read my mind. I don’t even know how ya know me well enough to do that.”

Kita shrugs, smiling again. “I’ve known ya for a long time. Guess I just picked up on a few things.”

Atsumu gazes at them, his chest twisting and tightening with guilt and self-loathing. He takes a deep breath, grabbing the binder. “So. Flowers?” 

This is a problem for another day. Atsumu can hate himself on his own time; for now, he needs to help Kita plan a wedding.

-

The wedding creeps up on Atsumu sooner than he would’ve liked. Before he knows it, the wedding itself is barely a week away, Hinata planning on being Atsumu’s date, and Atsumu has no idea how he feels about any of it. He doesn’t want to be happier than Osamu anymore—he just wants to be  _ happy.  _ Both of them happy, together. It doesn’t seem fair that he’s been plotting this all along, not fair to Hinata, to Kita, to Osamu, to anyone. 

Atsumu trudges into Onigiri Miya earlier than usual, his feet dragging all the way up to the counter where Osamu is straightening up in preparation for the day ahead. Osamu glances at Atsumu momentarily as Atsumu slumps forward onto the counter, his forehead pressed against the cool stone countertop. Osamu flicks the top of his head. 

“Yer gettin’ my counter all oily with yer stupid face,” Osamu drawls. 

Atsumu just whines in response. 

“What’s yer problem?” Osamu asks. Atsumu whines again. “C’mon, ‘Tsumu, ‘M not gonna weasel it outta ya. Either tell me what’s buggin’ ya or get off my counter.” 

“We made a bet,” Atsumu says, his voice muffled by the counter top. 

Osamu is quiet for a few moments. “I recall.”

“A bet to see who’d be happier on yer weddin’ day,” Atsumu continues.

“Yes,” Osamu says slowly.

Atsumu whines and shakes his head. “Why do I feel bad ‘bout it? I never feel bad ‘bout makin’ bets with ya!” 

Again, Osamu doesn’t respond immediately. Atsumu moves to rest his chin on the counter instead of his forehead, gazing up at Osamu imploringly. 

“Well,” Osamu finally says, “why’d ya wanna make the bet to begin with?”

Atsumu wrinkles his nose. “‘Cause yer gettin’ married.”

Osamu rolls his eyes. “It’s more than that, idiot.” 

Atsumu sighs, turning his head on its side. “I dunno. Yanno I’m no good with emotions, ‘Samu.”

“I’m aware,” Osamu deadpans. “But you’ll never stop feelin’ bad ‘bout this ‘til ya get over yerself ‘n actually deal with yer emotions.”

Atsumu sighs. “Yer gettin’ married.”

“Yes,” Osamu agrees. 

“I’m not,” Atsumu continues.

Osamu nods. “Yes.”

“I don’t want ya to get married,” Atsumu says, “‘cause if yer gettin’ married, then that means yer movin’ on in life, workin’ toward the happiest eighty, and yer leavin’—Oh. I get it now.” 

“I’m not fuckin’ leavin’ ya, ya stupid oaf,” Osamu huffs. “I’m not leavin’ ya behind, either. I’m not gonna take all my spare keys back as soon as the weddin’ ends. Gettin’ married doesn’t make us stop bein’ brothers.”

“Yeah,” Atsumu says, twisting his face. “But it means there’s someone in yer life more important than me.”

“Shinsuke’s always been a part of the equation, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu points out. “Yer just gettin’ scared cause marriage is a bigger step than yer used to.”

Atsumu pouts. 

Osamu sighs. “Why won’t ya just get it through yer thick skull that we’re allowed to have lives outside of each other and still be fuckin’ brothers?” 

“When ya stop movin’ on without me!” Atsumu retorts, sitting up. “‘M not ready for all the stuff yer doin’! But now I gotta do it, too, ‘cause we’re twins and twins are supposed to be the exact same!” 

“We ain’t the same,” Osamu says, his voice level in comparison to Atsumu’s shrillness. “‘N we never have been. Just let me be happy, wouldya? My happiness doesn’t mean the absence of yers.”

Atsumu presses his lips into a thin line. “I’m not a very good brother, am I?”

Osamu shrugs. “Yer doin’ yer best. That’s all I can ask of ya.” 

“Yer gettin’ married,” Atsumu says, after a few moments pass in silence.

“I am,” Osamu agrees. 

“That’s a big step,” Atsumu continues. 

“It is,” Osamu replies. 

Atsumu glances at him. “Yer happy?”

Osamu nods. 

Atsumu takes a deep breath. Clenches his fingers into fists, then releases them. “Then—I’m happy for ya, too.” 

Osamu smiles, reaching forward to muss Atsumu’s hair. “I knew ya’d come ‘round.”

Atsumu huffs, swatting at Osamu’s hand. “Yer insufferable.”

Osamu sticks out his tongue. “I learned it from the best.”

-

“‘Samu’s gettin’ married,” Atsumu states, fiddling with the disproportionate unicorn as he sits on Hinata's couch, some stupid rom-com blaring in the background. His head is resting on Hinata’s shoulder, as Hinata scrolls through his social media. They’d originally planned to eat greasy takeout and watch the movie, but they got bored quickly. Atsumu doesn’t mind—he just likes spending time with Hinata, no matter what they’re doing.

Hinata glances up from his phone. “Yeah? Where’s this coming from?”

Atsumu shrugs. 

Hinata bumps his head against Atsumu’s lightly. “C’mon,” he needles. “Tell Dr. Shouyou what’s bothering you.”

Atsumu snorts. He takes a deep breath, staring down at the unicorn’s fluffy face as he declares, “I dunno if I ever wanna get married.” 

Hinata pauses. “What makes you say that?” 

Atsumu turns to hide his face in the fabric of Hinata’s t-shirt, whining softly. “I just don’t see the point. The government would never officiate it, and it’s not like professional athletes can really ever be out ‘less they want to end their own fuckin’ careers.”

“Okay,” Hinata says slowly. “Why does that matter?”

Atsumu whines again. “‘Samu’s gettin’ married,” he repeats. 

“Right,” Hinata says. “And you don’t want to.” 

Atsumu presses his face farther into Hinata’s shoulder. Hinata reaches down to capture Atsumu’s hand in his own, tangling their fingers together. “‘M not used to wantin’ different things,” he mumbles. “Feels weird.”

“Well,” Hinata starts. “What  _ do  _ you want?”

Atsumu pauses. What  _ does  _ he want? If not marriage, then what is it that will make him happiest at age eighty? Age forty?

What will make him happy right  _ now?  _

“You,” he breathes.

Hinata sucks in a sharp breath, squeezing Atsumu’s hand, as though he wasn’t expect that answer.

“I wanna love ya,” Atsumu continues, ignoring Hinata’s surprise. “I wanna hold yer hand ‘n kiss yer stupid forehead ‘n cuddle with ya ‘n be by yer side forever. I wanna be yer setter ‘til we can’t play volleyball anymore. I wanna—I wanna dance with ya at every weddin’ ‘n every party for the rest of our lives.” 

Hinata is quiet for so long, Atsumu sits up to look at him, worrying his bottom lip. 

“Shouyou?” he asks. 

Hinata squeezes his hand again. He laughs, smiling softly, and he says, “You think too much.”

Atsumu wrinkles his nose. “What's that s’posed to mean?”

Hinata turns to look at Atsumu, releasing his hand and reaching up to hold Atsumu’s face in both of his hands. He leans in close, so close their noses are nearly touching. “I’d love to dance with you,” he whispers. Atsumu’s eyes flutter closed, at the same time Hinata angles his face just so, capturing his lips in the softest, sweetest kiss Atsumu has ever felt. Atsumu reaches up to tangle his fingers in Hinata’s wild curls, pressing in even closer. 

When they pull away, Atsumu can feel a dopey grin spreading across his face. “I’d drink a million banana smoothies for ya, Shouyou.”

Hinata snorts, brushing Atsumu’s hair away from his face, his touch dripping with tenderness and love. “Maybe don’t do that. I like you better alive.” 

Atsumu leans forward to kiss him again, peppering kisses all over Hinata’s face and neck. “Fine,” he mumbles. “I guess I’ll keep livin’ for ya.”

Hinata pulls him in again, this time for a hug. He hooks his chin over Atsumu’s shoulder, cradling the back of Atsumu’s head with his hands. “Sounds good to me.”

Atsumu has no idea what’s going on in the movie anymore, when the two of them lay back down to continue watching. He finds he doesn’t really care, more enamored with the way Hinata’s chest rises and falls with every breath, the way the light of the TV reflects in his brown eyes like starlight. 

“I love you,” Atsumu murmurs. 

Hinata glances at him and smiles. “I love you, too.”

Atsumu’s chest feels warmer than fire, lighter than a cloud.  _ This  _ is what he wants. This is what makes him happy. This, right here—laying on the couch, watching a movie with the man he loves. 

Or maybe it’s even simpler than that. Maybe it’s just loving, and being loved. Maybe, just maybe—

Maybe it’s just Hinata Shouyou. In all of his sunshine-y glory.

-

  
  


The day of the wedding is cold and rainy. Atsumu is momentarily glad he convinced Kita to pick an indoor venue, rather than something outdoor, or else Osamu might’ve had a conniption from the stress of his wedding being rained out. Atsumu leaves Osamu to finish getting ready barely twenty minutes before the ceremony is scheduled to start, instead going out to help Hinata seat the guests. Kita’s parents and Atsumu’s parents are already seated in the front row, conversing quietly amongst themselves. 

Hinata hip-checks him lightly, smiling. “You excited?”

Atsumu grins. “Can’t wait to watch ‘Samu stutter through his vows like a dope. He’s so fuckin’ whipped, it’s sickenin’.”

“Aw, it’s cute,” Hinata says, poking Atsumu’s ribs. “They’re in love.”

“Really,” Atsumu drawls. “I never woulda guessed that my brother’s in love with the person he’s gettin’ married to. Ya’ve really opened my eyes here, Shouyou.”

Hinata grins. “You know what I mean.”

Atsumu hums. “Yeah, yer right.” He glances at the clock hanging on the far wall, shifting his weight. “I should prob’ly go make sure ‘Samu hasn’t choked himself with his own tie. It’s almost time to give him away.” 

“Try not to cry too hard,” Hinata teases. Atsumu scoffs, waving Hinata away and watching the redhead trot over to his seat next to Atsumu’s father. The two of them immediately strike up a conversation, and Atsumu lingers for a moment to watch before he heads toward the room where Osamu is supposed to betting dressed.

Once inside the room, Atsumu finds Osamu fiddling nervously with his bowtie, which is crooked. His collar isn’t folded properly, either. Atsumu tuts, walking over to help his brother adjust everything to perfection.

“Yer a mess,” he declares.

“‘M nervous,” Osamu corrects.

“Nervous about  _ what _ ?” Atsumu drawls. “‘S just Kita. Ya’ve been datin’ since high school.”

“Yeah,” Osamu says, “but this is  _ marriage.” _

Atsumu glances at the clock. It’s time to go. “‘Samu, look at me.” Osamu does as told. Atsumu grips his shoulders, staring into his eyes. “This ain’t somethin’ to be scared of. Ya love Kita, remember? Kita loves ya, too. This is just a celebration of that.”

“Right,” Osamu mumbles. “Right. I’ll be fine,”

“You’ll be fine,” Atsumu agrees. “Now, c’mon. Don’t wanna keep yer future spouse waitin’, now do ya?”

Osamu rolls his eyes, but he links elbows with Atsumu anyway and allows him to lead the two of them back out to the venue. The small crowd of friends and family falls to hush as the twins walk down the aisle toward the alter, where Akaashi the unofficial officiant waits with a small smile on his face. Atsumu pats Osamu’s arm before stepping down and to the side, his designated place as the best man. After a few seconds, the music starts up again, and Kita and their grandmother appear at the end of the aisle. Kita looks as regal as Atsumu knew they would, having helped them pick their suit. Osamu’s suit is a cream color, with a golden bow tie and matching pocket square, complete with a maroon rose tucked into his front pocket. Kita, alternatively, sports a golden suit with a long coat that’s just barely cinched at the waist, almost resembling an a-line skirt as it falls to their knees. Their pocket square and bowtie are the same cream as Osamu’s suit, and their pocket boasts a maroon rose to match their soon-to-be husband. 

Osamu sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of them, a small smile spreading across his lips. Atsumu stifles a grin, watching Kita’s grandmother press a kiss to their forehead before she takes her seat in the front row with the rest of the immediate family members. 

Kita and Osamu gaze at each other, a sickeningly loving look in each of their eyes, and Atsumu’s heart squeezes. His eyes sting with tears watching them exchange rings, exchange vows, and he pointedly ignores Hinata’s smug look with the tears spill over after Akaashi finally lets the happy couple kiss each other. 

It isn’t until after the newlyweds have made their way back down the aisle hand in hand, the ceremony reaching its close, that Atsumu reunites with Hinata and tangles their fingers together. Hinata smiles softly, brushing away a few of Atsumu’s stray tears. 

“I knew you’d cry,” he teases. 

“Shut up,” Atsumu mumbles, even though he’s smiling, too. 

“The ceremony was sweet,” Hinata comments. 

Atsumu hums. “They’re so fuckin’ happy. It’s gross.”

Hinata laughs, resting his head against Atsumu’s shoulder as they follow the rest of the wedding guests out to the venue where the reception is to be held. 

After a few moments, Atsumu turns and presses a kiss to the crown of Hinata’s head, humming softly. “Y’know somethin’, Shouyou?”

Hinata squeezes his hand. “What’s that?”

“I think I’m happy, too,” Atsumu murmurs. 

Hinata smiles softly. “I’m glad.”

They take their seats as the opening notes of the first dance begins to play. As Atsumu watches his brother and Kita take to the floor, he glances at Hinata, and all he can think is that it’ll be their turn soon. It’s almost time to dance. 

Hinata turns to offer him a smile. Atsumu squeezes his hand, and smiles back. 

He doesn’t see how he could ever be happier than this. How could he ever want more, when he’s already holding the sun in his hands?

**Author's Note:**

> o(-<
> 
> cant believe i finally finished this,, this is literally so self indulgent it isnt even funny
> 
> finishing this was my goal for 2020 so now that its done i can cease to exist
> 
> jk jk but seriously,, i had so much fun clowning atsumu in this fic i am almost sad to see it go
> 
> as always, come hang out w me on tumblr @fake-charliebrown, twt @fakecharlieb, or check out my [carrd](https://fakecharliebrown.carrd.co/)


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